74th Hunger Games: Cato and Clove
by Jacia
Summary: Careers don't fall in love... or do they?
1. Clove

As if there aren't already enough CxC fics floating around, eh? But, apart from AxF they're my favorite 'ship, so I had to write this story for myself. (:

**Clove POV**

I stroke my long, dark chestnut locks and sit down at my desk. A cracked mirror reflects me, and I examine my face critically. My eyes are almond-shaped and striking, gray with swirls of green and brown. My skin is naturally pale, and a scattering of freckles are sprinkled across my nose and cheeks. I'm of medium height, and my training has given me muscles; not disgusting bulges, but sleek ripples visible in my arms and legs. I have distinct, pointed facial features, and curved eye-brows rise high above my eyes, always giving me a look of arrogance, no matter my mood. I'm some-what pretty, not by District 1 or Capitol standards, but by my own. I'm unique.

I give myself more time at the mirror, straightening my hair out. Today is the Reaping. I'm not volunteering. I'm 16, and plan to volunteer the day of my 6th and final reaping. I'm amazing with knifes, but I must absolutely perfect my skills before I go into the arena.

District 2… we don't train because we want to. We train because we have to. If it weren't for the Games, none of us would be cruel. We'd be happy, care-free teenagers with nothing more on our mind than crushes and friends. But, instead, we train, to please the Capitol and to prove to them that we will not bow beneath their Games. District 2 is by-far the most skilled District. District 1 trails us closely; 4 trails us distantly. We're killers, and the other districts hate us. But do we really have a choice? It's killed or be killed. Survival of the fittest. We had a chance to take action, and we did. It's hard not to feel sorry for the other Districts. We kill their children almost every year; apart from a few stray Games where a weakling has lucked out. The Capitol favors us because of our lack of rebellion so many years ago; and in return we receive life for our children. Other Districts are incredibly poor, incredibly under-fed, and lack the hope and ambition it takes to defeat the Hunger Games. Their tributes never stand a fighting chance. Being a killer is morally wrong. I understand. But heaven's probably a hell of a lot better than this world, and, anyway, if it's me or some random kid, you know who I'm picking.

The concept of training in this district is simple. Down-on-their-luck kids come here, rather than a District home. We're trained and made into something useful. Most of us are dropped off here, abandoned by our parents; others are found on the streets and taken in by workers. We're trained intensely, extremely, until we've absolutely mastered a skill or two. My talent is knives. Most of us do well in combat weapons, but a small few master archery. We're trained, day and night, by former victors and professional trainers. They want the honor and the glory of the District to continue, and even if that means doing nothing but training children, it's worth it. All of us must volunteer. Some do so at 15, others at 18. Those who do not, even if not willingly, are scorned and work as trainers here for the rest of their lives. See why the Games are suddenly so appealing? Our lives are horrible. We do not interact with the outside world. We do not have 'friends'. There are about 100 of us residing in the Training Centre, and I personally only know two or three. We are not allowed to interact. Friendship and flings take away from our training focus and ability, according to our trainers. Isolation is healthy.

Apart from completely barring our life, our physical standards are pushed to the limit. Some of us have been lured outside and then chased by a speeding, moving car to test our speed. We're randomly attacked by victors, just to test our reflexes and weapon skills. We're starved and given a limited water supply, and still have to train, for days at a time. We're given cramped, uncomfortable sleeping areas, and in the winter, we sleep with fans blowing on our face and our windows wide open. We're puppets to the District, and the Capitol. It's hard to swallow, but they do not care about any of us. Children like me have died while training and not one victor blinked an eye. Most of them laughed and moved on. Our whole lives, we have been trained to kill. Born to die. We are not allowed lives. We are robots. We do not determine our boundaries, we do not determine our say in things. We are controlled, our lives are given only to impress the filthy muck known as the Capitol. The Games may be a death sentence to others, but they are a chance at freedom for me. As soon as I win, I will come back here, and spit at the feet of every disgusting Trainer that fills this building.

I wish my life had turned out differently. I wish I were growing up in the small, but still happy, middle-class, family area of District 2. The chances of a child being picked from there are rare, and most have volunteers to save them, anyway. I was left here when I was 3 years old. Everyone knows that that's the cut-off. If you send a child under the age of 3 to the Training Centre, or over the age of 7, they will immediately be executed. If they look weak or unable, the same fate awaits them. Workers here don't know much about my mother.. the woman who left me here. They found me, banging on the back door of the Centre, biting my lip angrily and waving a letter in the air, demanding my mother. Even then, the victors had immediately admired my headstrong personality, and I was kept and trained. A worker pocketed the letter the victors normally would've burned and gave it to me as soon as I was old enough to understand it. I pull it out of a secret spot underneath my dresser and read it for nearly the thousandth time.

_Dear Clove,_

_I love you very much, and I sincerely hope they give this letter to you. I know there's not much of a chance, what with animals being the only victors, but I can still pray._

_I brought you to this wretched place so that you would not end up like me. I want you to be strong, and I want you to be powerful. It's hard thinking of you in the Games, but I know you can win them, if you're the right mix of your father and I. I suppose it's time I tell you about your birth … it may be shameful, but, Clove, you're gorgeous, on the inside and out, so don't fret. Your father won his Games, and I fell under his charm shortly after he returned home. I shortly became pregnant. At the time, my parents had arranged a marriage for me so I rushed into it. My husband's family was of government status and refusing could've gotten us all killed. I pretended you were his, but I told your real father the truth. After you were born, your father truly did adore you, and as you grew a bit older, he told me how much you reminded him of us. He wanted to be with me, but I was already married to a prestigious man. It couldn't happen. Still, we frequently met, you, him, and I. My husband suspected something, because as you grew you weren't displaying any signs of his dry, bitter, and callous behavior. Nor did you inherit any of his… unfortunate looks. He hired someone to track us and promptly shot your father. He didn't kill me, nor you, simply because he had had a few years thinking you were his child. First opportunity I got, I took you here. You'll be safe, and if your sorry 'step-dad' ever tries to come after you, you can whip his butt._

_I wish I could express how much I love you through a few sentences. I wish I could've raised you. I'm sorry my poor decisions led to the destruction of your childhood, and I hope you can forgive me._

_Love, Mother._

Even after all these years, it's evident where the ink is blotched because of her tears. A few scribbled hearts follow her name. Even after getting to know this letter like the back of my hand, certain points still make me cry, and others make me laugh. I would've loved to have known my Mother. I certainly inherited her personality. Simply from the letter, she shows strength, stubbornness, unwillingness to be controlled and, still, a touch of softness lines her hard exterior. Exactly like me. I would've liked to have known my father, too. It seems my knack for knife-throwing was a gift from him.. knowing that he was a victor makes me even more confident in my skills. It'd be so easy to figure out who he was… I could easily gather up all the information my Mother gave me, and ask any of my trainers about him. Add a sneer and distaste to your tone and you can lure anything out of them. But I prefer the sheathe of mystery added to my background. It's better to wonder and imagine than to know, at least in my case.

Before I leave my small room, I straighten out my bed. The covers are gray and dull, the mattress ridden with broken springs. The Capitol stamp is displayed lazily on the end of my blankets, and I fold it over, shaking my head in disgust. As I'm about to leave, a shudder passes through me. Why does today feel so ominous? To cheer myself up, I yank my knife out of my boot. I slowly carve my name onto my dresser, neatly tracing the letters of my name in script. Maybe, when I become a victor, the next girl that lives in this room will pull strength from my name. Maybe the dresser will be put in a museum, or something. I smile to myself, fold the letter and gently place it in my upper pocket. Normally, I'd keep it hidden in my room, but I have a feeling I'll need the luck today. I'm wearing durable black leggings and a padded sweat-shirt, and armor shields the most vulnerable points on my body. I swiftly tie my hair into a knotted braid, stuff my knife back into my boot and head down the stairs. Our room and board is located above the Training Centre, in a cluttered attic. Our rooms are literally miniscule, and only consist of a bed and a small dresser. Our rooms are locked on the inside and out to prevent us from seeing each other; and each of us have a set time in which we are to come down and train. I slowly climb down the ladder that connects our rooms to the center, and as I finally reach the floor a knife whizzes past my face. I slide to the right just in time, and yank my knife out of my boot and whip it at the trainer who nearly killed me. He ducks out of the way clumsily and the knife lodges itself in the wall behind him. If only..

The victors slap my back and cheer in encouragement. I only smile arrogantly as I hear them whisper. "She's a winner for sure." I raise my chin and walk over to the knife station. Yes, I will be a winner. The 76th Hunger Games cannot come fast enough…

Slowly, others like myself come down the ladder and begin to train. We only have two hours of training before the reaping, and this is the only time of the year we're allowed to be together. I examine my peers. There are no eighteen year old girls this year, so no girl will be volunteering, or maybe a seventeen year old will. I particularly size them up. None of them possess my amount of skill. They're flawed in technique, and it's easy to see they're taking the District 1 female tribute approach. They're relying on beauty, not skill or strength, to take them home. The men are different. They're skilled. I could easily kill most of them, since the only thing between their ears is air, but it'd take a fight.. I continue flinging knives into targets, flawlessly and easily receiving a bulls-eye each time. I'm completely lost in my world, pushing myself to throw stronger and straighter. I slowly move farther back each time, and yet there are still not ruts in my shots. My years of training have paid off.

It takes me a second to notice that everyone is watching me. Some in envy, others in respect. I forcefully pull my lips into a cruel smirk and begin staring contests with those examining me. All eyes' leave mine; except for those belonging to a man I've never met. I might've been fooled into thinking he was a trainer, if it weren't for his outfit and the spear he's gripping in his hand. Dummies, struck down by his hand, lay in piles on the floor in front of him. His ice blue eyes are cold, but amused. His blonde hair is spiked, and muscles bulge out of his sleeves. He's attractive, in a rugged, dangerous way. But I refuse to be intimidated. He smirks at me and I smile, mischievously but threateningly, back. He's challenging me. My eyes don't leave his as I back up. I'm extremely far from my target now. If I miss, I will not only be humiliated, I will be beaten. I'm still staring at him, my eyes not even on my target, as I thrust a knife from my hand with all the might I can muster up. From the corner of my eye, I can see it's landed spot-on the middle, and I resist the urge to do a dance of victory. I instead stare at the man. I wonder, is he 18 yet? And is he volunteering? He lets out a small chuckle of disbelief and nods acceptingly at me. I've gained his admiration. I indulge in a chance to annoy him, even though we've only just met, and for the remaining twenty minutes of training, I only watch him as he absolutely destroys dummies. He acknowledges my presence, and it only makes him spear dummies more viciously.

A bell rings, and it's time for us to all go to the Reapings. The man puts his spear down and smiles at me. "Impressed?" I roll my eyes. "Very," I hold out my hand. "I'm Clove." He grins at me. "Cato. So, the most-skilled trainees this Centre has ever had finally meet," We shake hands. He's putting up a smooth act, but I can tell he's surprised that I'm not intimidated by him. Most people don't approach him for casual conversation.. We walk to the Reapings together, and both of us laugh at the horrified expressions of normal citizens as we walk by. They rarely see us, and our cold expressions are enough to make anyone wet their pants. "Cato, I'm bored. How about we kill some more people?" I make my voice threatening and low. "Amazing idea, Clove. You know I love seeing the light leave their eyes," He shouts loudly. We start to explode in laughter as people formerly walking near us run off, terror on their faces. I'm surprised… I've made a friend. It feels nice, warm, and new. We remain in comfortable silence for the rest of the walk, and before we part I stop. "Cato, how old are you?" I ask quietly, seriously. "I'm 18." He says. "I'm volunteering this year." He looks at me, trying to appear unbothered but looking slightly disappointed. I'm his first friend, too. "We should meet up some-time, after I'm crowned victor. I'll be back in a week," He smiles at me. I wave to him, trying to disguise my feelings of unhappiness. "Kill a few tributes for me, will ya!" I joke, smiling at him. He nods and winks, walking to the section of 18 year olds. I let myself into the rope made for 16 year olds and wait. I wonder who'll be picked for the girl tribute. No one is volunteering this year; our trainers allowed that because of Cato, I guess. He's an absolute victor.

Our escort is already on stage, and our many victors are lined up behind her. Our escort is perky, and smug; she did land the most successful District, after all. She drones on about the Capitol; how grateful we should be. She picks the male tribute first, as usual. A wimpy kid is called – he must be from that small area of middle class – and Cato quickly volunteers. Maybe I should visit him in the Justice Building … he won't have anyone else. He's … cool. We're compatible. It's nice to think that someone may think the same of me. A shudder runs through me as our escort plunges her hand in the female glass bowl.

_Stop, Clove. Stop. You have two more years of training to go before you enter the arena; Cato's winning this year. _

My hands start to sweat as our escort reads the name.

_It won't be you. It won't be you.._

It's me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Excuse me if this is bumpy… hm, I've never written a character like Cato before, and I'm experimenting with it. =]**

**Cato POV**

I part with Clove and walk to the 18 year old section. Guys immediately make room for me, and all keep a safe distance away. Good.

Clove.. damn. She was.. different.

I'm a killer. Everyone I meet, I size up. I daydream ways to kill them, and if I wanted to, I could. Easily. I'm sick, and I like blood. But if there's no evil in this world, there can't be good.. I've lived in the Training Centre for a while. I was scooped off the street when I was just a kid, and since then, I've mastered knives, swords, and spears. I have muscles and I know 25 ways to kill someone… without a weapon. I've always been fascinated with the Hunger Games, and I knew I was going to win. Now I'm 18, and decided immediately to volunteer. The Hunger Games aren't fair, but they're here. If you can't change something, then find a way to deal with it. And if that way happens to be becoming a cold-hearted prick.. then sucks for me, doesn't it?

I've never had friends. I've never cared for someone. Until I met… her. Today. I don't know what liking a girl feels like. But I'm pretty sure this is it. Today, all us Training Centre kids, even though we're normally forced apart, were allowed together. Clove immediately caught my attention. I had never met her before, and normally I pass off the other trainees as weak dweebs. But she was… intriguing. She was amazing with knives, especially throwing them. I watched her, and she didn't flinch under my gaze. We locked eyes, and to intimidate me, she managed to get a bulls-eye with one of her knives from 30 feet away. Even I was impressed. For the rest of training, she watched me as I speared dummies. I tried to scare her, terrify her; but again I didn't even seem to bother her. She took it in stride.

I don't know girls horribly well. I'm skilled, but when it comes to them… I've never been near one. They've never appealed to me. I've always viewed them as weak and emotional. An obstacle. Something to weigh me down. Sure, I've seen a lot of them. Being a favorite of victors, I'm constantly taken out on the town by them all; they already consider me one of them. Some girls I've met have tried to 'come on' to me. But I never wanted them. But I want her. I'll get her, too, after I come home and win. Is, this, what's it called… lust? I've only known her for a few hours. I'm a killer. I hate people… and most regard me with horror. But she regards me with warmth. She's mysterious, and … beautiful. No one makes an _impression_ on _me_. I want to be near her… I want to learn more about her..

_She's a girl…and your only focus is on winning the 74__th__ Hunger Games. Stop thinking about her.. now._

Our escort blabs on and finally calls the names.

I volunteer for a wimp of a kid and walk up to stage. I smile threateningly, and discreetly flex my muscles. I know I'll be the biggest threat in these Games. I wait for the escort to call the girl as I smirk at the Cameras. The girl tribute will be someone I'll form an alliance with – if she's from the Training Centre, of course, and eventually kill. She calls the name, and I miss it. I'm trying so hard to look beastly that I don't pay attention. I watch as a figure slowly makes its way out of the 16 year old section. I expect it to be some ditz, and I'm caught off-guard. My mouth opens in shock for a second, but I close it quickly.

The female tribute this year is… Clove. _Shit_.

**Clove POV**

I mentally let out a string of curses as I confidently strut to stage. I quickly shake hands with Cato, and I can see his surprise. I turn towards the cameras and place my hands on my hips, appearing unbothered and bored by my Reaping. No one volunteers for me.

Fate must hate me. I meet the first guy I've ever liked, and we're tossed into the Hunger Games together. Cato… he's a killer. He wants to win. I'm his… friend; so what? I won't dampen his thirst for victory. He'll kill me. I'd never be able to kill him. If we got into a fight, I wonder who'd have the upper-hand. He's a brute and massive, I look like a dwarf next to him. He's stronger than me, and smart. Not your average District 2 idiot. He specializes in combat weapons, but he could also throw a spear or knife if he needed to. He'd win; unless I got lucky. I don't want us to fight.. maybe I'll die before the final 2, so we won't have to. Oh, dear god, why did we have to meet? It's practically cruelty.. had we not noticed each other, we would've ignored and hated each other throughout these Games. But we just had to latch onto each other, and now… both of us will be guilt-filled when the other dies.

By the time we reach the Justice Building, the full reality of my situation hits me. _I'm supposed to be a victor._ I was supposed to volunteer for the 76th Hunger Games and win. I was supposed to have two more years to train and grow stronger. I was supposed to be paired with someone I loathe; I was supposed to be paired with someone who isn't severe competition. I can win these Games, but someone I know and like will have to die for that to happen. Most likely by my hands, too; if I can even manage that. My victory was supposed to be easy, and obvious. But now I'm paired with the strongest man in District 2, someone who's clever and amazingly accurate when it comes to weapons. My death.. it's a possibility. I don't want to die on the forest floor as a teenager.. I want to die back home in District 2 as an old lady.

I think quickly of my carving on my Training Centre dresser. Will the girl there after me look at it in pride, admiration? Or will she look at it in piteous arrogance? I think of the Training Centre victors. Will they be rooting for me, or for Cato? Probably Cato… I shake away my thoughts. I will fight for my freedom; I will fight to get out of the arena. I still have a week before I'll be locked in the arena to fight; and I plan not to focus on death until then. I'm strong, I'm smart, and I'm a Career. I won't be going down easily.

I sit in the Justice Building. I don't have any visitors. I vaguely hope my Mother will come in, but she doesn't. I don't know if she's alive or dead, but I'm still disappointed. I'm so glad I had a burst of intuition to bring my letter; it'll be my token. Without it, I would've been going in with nothing. Will my mother be watching me die? Will my step-father be watching me die? I sigh. Is it really fair that someone can be so virtually unloved in their lives? I'm not sure how I've coped. I guess the hope that maybe, one day, I could get out and _really_ live my life has kept me going. But a small bit of hope isn't much to live for..

The hour passes quickly and I'm left with my thoughts. Cato and I are boarded onto the train, and we begin the long ride to the Capitol. The train is beautiful, but it's hard to be so impressed by something that represents such horror and hate. Our mentors, Enobaria and Brutus, don't like us. We're normal District 2 kids, and I suppose they're jealous that we could easily finish them off in a fight if we wished. Their glory days are over. Dinner is quick, and I catch Cato staring at me thoughtfully a few times. I have the strangest urge to blush, but since I'm fairly practiced at acting, I slide it away. Our table lacks knives, and our food is cut up into small pieces. So, the rumors are true! Our escort seems terrified of us and avoids our eyes. I want desperately to scare her, but it'll only earn a venomous scolding from our mentors.

After dinner, we're allowed to do whatever we want. Even though we're fairly close to the Capitol, it still takes a few good hours to get there. We're warned not to kill each other and left on our own. I head to my room and gasp. It's massive, 10 times the size of the nasty hole in District 2 I call home. I settle into a luxurious arm chair with a view of the windows and am about to close my eyes when I hear my door open. I'm at a loss for who it may be when I see Cato. "May I join you?" I nod in surprise and he sits in the chair beside me. We sit in silence, and after a while I break the ice. "Did you see our escort's face? She practically peed in her pants, just at the sight of us!" He laughs, genuinely, and I'm pleased. "If only they gave us knives with dinner…," Cato sighed, sarcastically. I pull my knife out of my boot and hand it to him. He examines it, and smiles. "I like you, District 2." I'm flattered and tease him. "I like _you_, District 2."

Our moment of warmth launches us into conversation. We talk about simple things, important things and we learn about each other. I tell him of my mother and he seems truly sad for me. He doesn't have much to his past; but I listen anyway. "Have you ever wondered what it's like to really live? To have a family, to have a girlfriend, to be able to do whatever you want?" I ask, on a whim. He's surprised by the question and he pauses before answering. "Not really.. training. That's what life has always been about. I've never had the authority or time to question it." I frown. "I have. Cato, we haven't lived. We've been cooped up our entire lives. We know nothing, we're puppets. Pawns." He nods and looks.. upset.. bothered. Suddenly, I'm spilling everything out to him. Because he's the only person that will ever listen.

"I should've had two more years to train. I'm good, but what am I compared to you? My whole life has revolved around improving my skills so there was a chance of escaping that hell-hole. I've always yearned for someone, someone to care about; someone to want me for me, not for my knife skills. If I die, I die with nothing. The Trainers and victors will laugh, say I was incompetent and will go on to train another girl. Panem will think I'm just another ruthless Career tribute and welcome my death. No one will visit my grave, no flowers will brighten that cold stone. I'll be another number, another nameless casualty. I'll be forgotten and no one will shed tears over my memory!"

I'm ashamed. I shouldn't have been so quick to talk. He's a Career, and I've revealed my weakness and fear. A massive no-no. I'm an idiot and I've made myself vulnerable. He'll kill me; or at least exclude me from the Career alliance… I'm surprised at my outburst. I'm not emotional. I'm strong. But years of having no one to confide in, years of putting up a wall and acting emotionless, have taken a toll on me. Someone expressing interest in me, in my life, is a complete shock. It has broken something in me, and I'm not sure what. To my surprise, Cato doesn't laugh or smirk. If I were anyone else, I can tell, he would. But he's accepted me. He won't hide things from me. He won't put up an act for me. I've made my way into this cold man's heart. We're so incredibly similar.. we share the same upbringing. We both have a lack of compassion in our lives. We both have the same hopes, we've both been controlled and used. We both want to defeat the Hunger Games. We both want to defeat the Capitol.

"I'll care if you die, Clove. I won't let you..," His voice chokes up slightly.

We lock eyes and stare at each other for a few seconds. I only consider it for a second before I lean forward and do something I never imagined I would have the chance to. Our lips touch and he doesn't hesitate before kissing me back. As I pull away, his gaze startles me. His blue eyes aren't cold or calculating anymore. They're full of sadness and longing. I am the only person he has ever cared for. I am the only person that will ever see his soft side. I am the only person that will ever truly know him.

And he is the only person that will ever truly know me. Only one of us will be leaving in the arena. One of us will have to die for the other to go home.

I realize something, and it terrifies me. I've only just met Cato. Emotions shouldn't be hitting me so heavily, so surely. The more I try to deny my feelings, the more firmly they plant themselves inside me.

I'm falling in love with Cato.

'_I'm jumping off of a building. My brain is telling me that I'll die, but my heart is assuring me that I can fly..'_


	3. Chapter 3

**(~If anyone is reading this~; I'm still experimenting with Cato's character [=)**

**Cato POV**

I stare at Clove as the train hurtles on. She purposely avoids my gaze. After she kissed me, she ran to her bathroom and locked the door. She ignored my pleading and though I considered kicking in the door, I didn't. I don't know what made me go in her room earlier.. no, I do. I went in because I wanted to. I needed to. Though it's hard to admit, the hour I spent talking with her was one of the best hours of my life. There was no acting ruthless, and there was no pretending. We let our personalities shine through. Normally, for Careers, the agenda is to show-up your district partner. See who can act the toughest and earn the highest training score, and when you're in the arena, you find out who is number one with the Career split up and the following battle.

I should hate this girl. I should want to kill her. As I try to convince myself that she is nothing, our moments in her room flood my mind. We talked. A weakness. If I hadn't went into that room, if we hadn't talked, perhaps I would be able to let it go. Perhaps I would be able to ignore her, and kill her, or try to let her die by someone else's hand. Her screams and blood would scar me, of course, after I came back home to District 2; but I could forget. Drown out her memory with a bottle or other girls. But we've shared far too much. I think about it for a moment. Emotions are running higher during the Games – after all, unless you're someone like Clove and I, there's a large chance that you'll be coming home… in a wooden box. Does that mean that falling in love is obvious? A trigger sense because you have so little time left to live? Something not formed out of actual love, but out of longing and regret?

Clove's eyes meet mine and I know that I actually feel something for her. Lust and physical attraction does not fuel my desire. If we were back at home – and, magically, neither of us had to participate in the Games, we would've dated. Gotten married and spent the rest of our lives together. If she hadn't been reaped – and I had just been able to go in the arena and get it over with – the same might have very well happened. She's a jewel in a sea of rocks. I'm attracted to her – her life, and her personality. When we spoke, I learned about her, and she listened to me. It only made her all the more irresistible.

I actually spoke to her. I actually told her details of my life. My weapon skills, my small victories, what I remember of my life before Training. She listened, without fault, her eyes locked on mine. She nodded and clenched my hand at the right places. I have never revealed my life to anyone. Had anyone else asked me to explain my primarily uneventful world I would've given them a broken nose. But, for some reason, it all spilled out to her.

She told me all about her mother. How she couldn't quite remember her face, only her striking green eyes. If she tried hard enough, she could still feel the warmth of her father's lap and her mother's feathery, light kisses. She could also recall slight, unimportant details, like a certain Christmas present or trees she used to try to climb. She always remembered something about her life before Training, but never enough to satisfy her. Sometimes, she pretended that she didn't live in District 2. She pretended that she didn't train; she pretended that the Hunger Games didn't exist. She wondered if there was anything beyond Panem, and if there was, did Hunger Games also exist there? She wanted, more than anything, to see the ocean, have children, and actually climb and explore the mountains and forests of District 2. She wanted to live. _Will she_? Her life has been bleak, short, and unfulfilling. As has mine. Both of us have trained our whole lives; nothing else. Then, she said something that completely caught me off-guard. She voiced all the worries that had always chewed at the back of my brain – if she died, she would be a nameless statistic. Panem wouldn't care. Nobody would. Her grave would sit untouched and forgotten.

I.. I can't let them happen. She doesn't deserve to rot in the ground. She deserves to see the ocean. She deserves to have children. I, Cato, someone so cruel and uncaring, am now willing to die for a girl. I'd give up my life, victory and honor for her, without hesitation. This is so unlike me – this undying certainty, this devotion for a _girl_. It's tempting to punch myself – but I stay silent and still.

Do I.. love her? It's too soon to tell. What is love, exactly? I squint at her, and a slight red comes to her cheeks, but a stony expression remains on her face. I'd die for her to live. I, showing chivalry, when normally I'm so eager to kill? Yes, certainly, I don't care about murdering the other tributes. That'll be easy. But.. her.. I cannot kill her. For someone who has never cared about anyone, and frequently imagines ways to kills those around him…

I think of our kiss. I've kissed multiple girls. None have made any impression on me. The kisses were bleak, and were no more fulfilling than kissing stone. I assumed Clove would feel the same way, but it was different. My head became light – my stomach, for the first time ever, produced 'butterflies'. It felt absolutely amazing, relaxing and… _right_. Like we were meant to fit together. And that must mean something.

I care about every little detail of her life. I could listen to her explain unimportant, boring facts about her days in the Training Centre all afternoon. I could easily kiss her for hours. I feel so differently about her than I have ever felt about anyone else. I'm not sure how to explain it.. but I know she's the only girl I'll ever want. I suppose meeting the 'one' is rare, especially when you have my mind-set. People like me often win – and a few fall in love. As brutal and cold as they are, there's one person that softens them. That makes them see reason in petty fits of anger, or particularly bad memories of their Games. It's rare for District 2 tributes to actually care about someone.. but it happens.

I ravage my lip. Why did this have to happen to me? If Clove hadn't been reaped, then I could win these Games, hands down. I would've come home, and our relationship could've developed. We'd get married, tour District 4, swim in the ocean, hike in the forests behind District 2 and have as many children as our Victor's Village home could fit. If I win, there will always be a gaping hole in my heart knowing that the girl I.. I.. _love_ died. I'd never be able to look at another girl again. I'd be an empty shell of a person. When you've gone your whole life without love or affection, and suddenly you find it, you can't lost it without it destroying you. Clove is the only person I can care about.

And I'm surprised by how much she has changed my life and goals already.

When I finally break free of my thoughts, Enobaria and Brutus have joined us. Brutus sits next to me. He won his Games over around 15, 20 years ago. He's like me. He doesn't care about killing. It's seen as an obstacle. Nothing more. Enobaria is in her thirties. Her skin is tanned, her brown eyes soulless, and her teeth as threatening as ever. In the final two, she lost her weapons and was about to get an axe smashed into her skull when she ripped the throat of her opponent out with her teeth. I admit, it's impressive, her quick thinking – but the way she milks it is ridiculous. Her teeth are sharpened, like those of an animal, and the edges are stained permanently with a dull red to represent the blood that filled her mouth after she won her Games. She killed a guy via biting him. Anyone, even bloodbaths from three, could do it. She's not insanely powerful. I could've killed her had we been in the arena together. She glares at Clove and I, and snickers.

"Obviously, you two aren't hopeless. You've both trained." We nod and her eyes turn to slits as she examines Clove. "Actually.. you're weak, and small. You're not winning." She flicks her wrist dismissively and turns towards me. She purrs seductively. Her hand reaches up to stroke my face. "You, on the other hand.. You're so str-" I watch from the corner of my eye as Clove pulls her knife from her boot. It takes absolutely no effort to fling it across the room and land it perfectly. Enobaria shrieks and her words are cut off in mid-sentence. She stares at her hand in horror. The hand that had just been reaching to touch my face is now seeping blood; the knife lodged half-way through it. Enobaria pulls the knife from her hand and lunges at Clove. "You little-!" Brutus grabs her collar but she punches him. In shock, he lets go. Enobaria tackles Clove, but Clove has the upperhand. It's obvious that Enobaria hasn't trained intensely in a few years. "You little whore! You got lucky with a knife, but that'll get you nowhere! If you had any talents, you wouldn't have to try to sleep with him!" She points towards me and continues yelling viciously. "He won't protect you! He'll kill you! You're just a piece of meat! He doesn't care!" Clove goes limp in anger and Enobaria slaps her, spraying blood across her face.

I shove Enobaria off of Clove, using most of my strength and ignoring the sharp wail of pain I hear. I help Clove up and help her to her room. Enobaria glares at us as we leave the room. "You two have fun _dying_!" She yells, but it's half-hearted. Her anger is gone. I help Clove clean the blood off of her face and gently bandage her wounds with wrap I find in the bathroom drawers. She's surprised by my actions, and I am, too. I've never actually helped someone, nor have I wanted to, until now. "Cato," She whispers, her eyes drawn to her feet and her voice pained. "Look.. if you only care about me for.. certain reasons, I understand. It is the Games, and we may not have much longer to live.. I mean, I won't be upset if Enobaria was right...," Her voice trails off awkwardly.

My mouth opens and closes. No words come out._ Say yes, Cato. Say yes.. It'll be so much easier that way_. "It's not like that, Clove," I growl, my voice low. I suppose I should make some speech about how I feel, but something entirely different comes out of my mouth. "You're the first person I've met that hasn't annoyed me; nor have I had any thoughts of killing you yet," I immediately condemn my words as she smirks. "Is that supposed to be taken as a compliment, Mr. Scary Career?" She brushes her hand across my cheek and a shiver runs down my spine. "I mean, it's a shame I'm going into the Games with you.. I..," Clearly, my talent only reigns in combat. I'm not a charmer. "I.. believe I.. care about you." She gapes at me. "Well.. does that mean we can be in an alliance together?" She whispers, and smiles shyly at me. "Are you kidding? You're the best knife-thrower I've ever seen."

"You know," She says, staring at me. "You're the first person I've ever… liked before, too." There's an underlying message in her words, but I don't bother decoding what it is. "You should be proud. It's not easy to earn a spot in my… my.. heart."

Her eyes meet mine and she slowly moves forward. Her lips lock on mine and it's a few minutes before she pulls away. Chills hit me, full-force. Her expression looks torn, and she murmurs to herself. I barely hear her words. "Why can't I fight this?" She gets up, leaving me speechless on her bed. Before she reaches the door, she turns around. "You're the only person that has ever gotten one of those from me," She says matter-of-factly, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks.

I decide, in that moment, that she isn't a phase. She isn't something I'll get over. She's not something I can abandon. It's sorely inconvenient, but the person I.. know is right is going into the Hunger Games with me. I will die for her to win.

I'm callous, and cruel. I will not hesitate to slaughter 22 tributes. But something inside me tells me that she needs to be protected, and by me. I will not be leaving the arena.

oooo

Clove and I stare out the window as the train nears the Capitol. It's surpassed even my highest expectations. It's so unlike our tiny, isolated, rocky mountain District. Bright, lit-up buildings shimmer, and color dots every corner. Countless Capitol citizens are lined up on the train platform, all waving and gawking. I glare at them. They're all so… naïve and ridiculous. Each year, they watch 23 children die, and they couldn't care less. We're animals, and they'll forget about us all as soon as the cannon fires. Clove waves her knife around, and smiles threateningly at the crowd. "I have a winner this year," Brutus chortles. Enobaria glares at both Clove and I, and every so often casts a scowl at her bandaged hand.

We're the second train to reach the Capitol, and the crowd's not bored yet. As we stream out of the train, they yell and call for us. Clove waves merrily, but still smirks; I do the same. We board an elevator up to the Tribute building and I'm shocked when we reach our floor. It's a crime for something so fancy to exist when most of the Districts live in poverty. All the furniture in sight seems to be silk or velvet; colorful pieces of art, and the occasional portrait of a District 2 victor are glued on the walls. Sculptures and pottery decorate the room. There's a dinner table in one corner, an area for leisure, and carved doors engraved with either 'tribute' or 'mentor' are lined up on the wall opposite from us. Thinking of the tributes arriving here exactly a year ago makes me sick. Both died. Disgusting to imagine using something used by someone long, long gone.

Enobaria speaks. Her voice is icy. "Since we're one of the first trains here, and it takes most of the upper Districts over-night to arrive, you'll be spending the night here. Tomorrow are the Chariots." Clove touches the handle of her door lightly, admiring the beauty. She stares at me meaningfully. She goes in, and I'm about to follow her, when Brutus grabs the collar of my shirt. "Boy, I want to speak to you." I nod, surprised, and follow him. He sits me down on a soft Capitol couch and stands across from me. "You're strong. You're a winner, and you're going to win. Don't let her stop you," I glare at him. "I know. It seems real. But, trust me – when a girl thinks she can get help in the Hunger Games, she'll be an amazing actress. Don't let her cloud your mind. You should be the winner, she'll hold you down. Don't be an idiot, I've seen stuff like this happen multiple times. Girl charms him, he gets himself killed for her. I thought you'd be smarter than to fall for it," He stares at me disapprovingly. "She's not some ditz from District 1. I don't want her body. She can win the Games on her own, she doesn't need help. I wouldn't be surprised if she got a higher training score than I did. She's easily victor material," I growl. "I warned you. It won't be me dealing with the consequences," He says sadly. "Look, I have more than air in my head – she doesn't need me to win, nor will she use me. Watch," I say, and storm from the room.

I appreciate Brutus' warning, and I'm not angry with him. He's right – that happens often. Girls act weak, helpless, girly and scared and flaunt their body to get Careers, or someone strong, like myself, to notice them. They push the guy's into bed as soon as possible and hook them. Even if the girl has no skill whatsoever, she's allowed into the Career alliance and protected until the end. It'd take someone truly oblivious to fall for it – and I'm far smarter than that. Clove's not using me. She's flawless with a knife, and she hasn't attempted to seduce me nor has she acted like a complete ditz. If it somehow happens to be an act, and I'm fooled by it, then I'll accept the consequences. It's worth it, and there's no killing or ignoring her now.

I open the door to her room despite warning looks from Enobaria and Brutus. "Idiot." Enobaria hisses, her voice filled with hate.

I can't hide my gasp as I enter the room. It has a full view of the city from wide, clear windows – lights tinkle in the distance and if I squint hard enough, I can see colorful ants moving on the city streets. The room itself is fancy, as well – controls and fancy panels are tacked to the walls, and a set of couches and a huge, exquisite bed is set up in the middle of the room. It's so unlike my worn, ramshackle room back at home that it's practically a culture shock. Clove is staring out the window in silence, sitting indian-style on a silver, plush arm-chair. I join her. "Cato, if you – when you - win the Hunger Games, what will you do when you go back home?" I've never considered it – I always thought about getting the arena over with, and what it actually took to win, but never what I would adjust to after I did win. "I don't know," I scratch my chin and think. "Keep on training. Work part-time at the Training Centre. Mentor as much as possible. Dedicate my life to the Hunger Games. I guess I'd eventually marry some bimbo who wanted my money, and I guess I'd train my kids." She nods. "In other my words, my life would be empty. I never realized.. a life devoted to the Hunger Games. That's what I have left." She takes my hand and truly looks sad for me. "In other words, I have no life without you." I murmur, before I can stop myself. "What? Cato.. we've just met..," Her words mask a silent agreement.

"Someone to share my life with. That'll be the highlight of it if I'm a victor. There's nothing else waiting for me," I clench her hand. "I've met many people. All, I could kill without hesitation. Then, there's you. I don't know what it is, Clove. But I care about you. It's hard to admit, but if you die, I will be ruined. I can murder 22 tributes.. not 23," Her eyes are wide. "It's cruel fate that you were reaped, because the second I met you, today, I knew as soon as I won that I was coming back for you. I would've married you. If I can be that certain within an hour of meeting you, I won't be able to live past your death. Which is why you're winning." Her eyes are brimming with tears. She squeezes my hand with such force that I'm certain she's going to break it. I wince, and she lets go. "Cato..," She says jaggedly. She slaps my hand. "Screw you! It's easy for me to despise people. Then why can't I hate you?" She takes a deep breath. "We're Careers. We can't do this. One of us is dying. Look at us! We're acting like a couple of wonder-struck bimbos." She presses her lip to my cheek hesitantly. "Why is fate so cruel? I'm a knife-wielding maniac, and yet I'm.. I'm.." I interrupt her. "Falling for me?" I tease. Surprisingly, she doesn't snicker. "You could say that," She murmurs, and puts her hand to my cheek. "Oh, Cato. If only we could go home together.. isn't this odd? This feeling?" She whispers, her hands shaking. "I don't care about killing people. I thought my heart was too cold to ever.. care about someone. I didn't know.. it was like _this_," Her breathing slows. "I didn't know it was… heart-breaking."

"Look. It'll be okay. We both know one of us is winning, and that should be you. If I ever go back home, I'll never be able to find someone. Someone that.. I can fall in love with. Idiots will throw themselves at me for my money, and my fame. I won't love them, and they won't love me. I'll be a hermit who spends the rest of his days training kids to kill other kids. Not much of a life," She starts to talk but I stop her. "You have goals. Ambitions. You want to see the ocean, and have children. You'll be an amazing mother. Clove, you have a heart, and compassion. You deserve to live, and you will," I smile at her. "Just promise to keep a picture of me around at all times. It'll make your husband jealous." Clove lets out a sigh of frustration. "Cato. Shut up. Shut up, immediately. You- You're making me fall in love with you!" She looks horrified at her words and covers her mouth. "I will _never_ utter those words again." She says threateningly. "I.. I won't be sane if you don't come back with me." She stares at the ground. "I wish we hadn't met. My life would be worry-free right now."

"But we did." I grab her hand and raise her chin. "Since we've both acknowledged that our hearts aren't made of stone, we may as well stop fighting this. I have a week – maybe two - to live. It's worthless to pretend I don't care about you." She sighs at my words. "Let's dominate these Games. Our competition will be weak, and we're… amazing. Let's not think about anything difficult until we're the final two." She says, and smiles weakly. "I can live with that." I grin at her.

"Cato, what do you think it's like to live in one of the poor Districts?" She says, her voice low. "I guess we're privileged. We're worked to the bone – and some of us die – but if we're sent to the Hunger Games, we can win. Our lives aren't easy, but we don't live in fear. A reaping is an automatic death sentence for all of them. Do you really think someone from 10 or 12 has hope of winning? I'll kill them, like you, but I won't do it effortlessly. It'll hurt." I'm not like her. I don't care about killing. I know that already. It's cruel of me, but if it's for Clove's life or mine, how can I? At least the dead won't have to worry anymore. No more starving in the poor districts. I only view them as something to hold me down from winning. They are not people with souls. If I go to hell, at least I did so protecting Clove. I'm indifferent. "I guess they're lucky, in a sense. They die young and healthy. Had they grown up, they would've died starving and worn from years of work, leaving a bunch of malnourished kids to fend for themselves. Population control." Her face darkens. "You're right."

We talk more. Mainly about life, and the Hunger Games. We both want to live to see a world without them. There's no chance for me, perhaps there is for her, though. "I should probably go to sleep, now. Big day tomorrow. Chariots." I say, after an hour of speaking. I get up from my chair and she leaps after me. "Cato, no.. please stay." What is she saying..? What does she mean? She grabs my hand and leads me to her bed. "Just stay here, tonight. I can't face the darkness alone." I nod, silent. We curl up underneath the comfortable Capitol sheets together. She leans her head against my chest and I wrap my arms around her. I don't make any attempt to turn it into something more. Soon, her breathing is shallow and her face peaceful. She has given all her trust to me. Perhaps her.. heart.

Shocking. The moment I found my 'one' in the thousands of Panem, we're sent into the Hunger Games together. I have given myself and my life to her. And as I stare at her innocent, sleeping face I know I have made the right choice.

oooo

"Wake up!" I roll over and grunt, and a squeal makes me sit up. "Nice job! You crushed my hand." Clove smiles and points to the hand I'm sitting on. "I decided to wake you up before the escort got to us. Consider yourself lucky," She grins. "We'll finally be able to see the Reapings." One of the bad things about being in District 2 and having an early Reaping is that most aren't finished until the end of the day. We'll finally be able to see our competition. We'll finally be able to see our victims.

As Clove and I leave her room, Enobaria murmurs under her breath and Brutus shoots me a curious look. Our escort looks terrified. They're all already seated at the Breakfast table. Piles and piles of food fill the table. Porridge. Fruit. Stew. Rice. Complex, gourmet versions, too. Things I never got to eat at home. Our food consisted of very little – we were only given things that gave us enough nutrition to finish the day. Nothing more. And we were only given two small meals daily. Our trainers believed less is more. I fill my plate, with eggs, bacon and pieces of a strange pink fruit. I shovel everything into my mouth and my escort looks as though she's about to faint. Whether it's due to my lack of manners or the butter knife gripped in my hand, I know not. Clove only picks at her food. She's not willing to give in to the Capitol – she's stubborn. She doesn't want to owe them, nor does she want to have to do with anything made by them.

Avoxes sit, stony and silent, in the corner of the room. Apparently their tongues are cut out – or at least mangled so they have no use. Avoxes committed crimes against the Capitol, and now they're subjected to a horrible form of torture. They live only to serve. They have no lives, and their loved ones are forbidden to see them. A stab of pity hits me. I'd rather be dead then in their place. As we finish up breakfast, they start to clear the table and we all make our way to the array of couches surrounding a large screen. The Reapings start to play and I glue my eyes to the screen. I want to take in as much as possible.

District 1 is first. The boy.. he seems strong enough. He has slight muscles, and he walks with arrogance. He thinks he's a winner. _How wrong he is_. The girl is pretty, and each step she takes is filled with confidence. They're trained, but they're not competition. I can – and most likely will – kill them. "Allies." Brutus says, and Clove and I nod. They're not perfect, but they'll do. Our Reapings come on. Clove and I both appear threatening and deadly. No doubt, everyone has us marked down as competition. A shiver of pleasure runs through me as I imagine the other tributes' reaction to us. Any hope they had has died.

District 3 is uneventful. Two blood-baths, most likely. District 4 surprises me. Though I'm suspecting a male similar to District 1, the child chosen can't be older than 13. He's small, pale and looks ready to burst into tears as he hobbles up to stage. I can't suppress slight laughter as his tears come_. Bloodbath_. The girl is fairly fit, and seems like she may be useful. But she's nothing compared to Clove or I. "Ally." Enobaria says. The girl from District 5 walks with grace, and the way she holds herself suggests intelligence. But she's weak, and I can kill her. Districts 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 are nothing. Some of the boys and 1 or 2 girls seem fit, but I know none of them have any talent in weapons. _Bloodbath_.

District 11 unmasks a willowy, small girl and a muscled, tall man. The girl seems to only be around 12, and looks even younger than the starting age. _Bloodbath_. The man interests me. He's strong, and he can use a weapon. I can tell. I could take him – but the fight would take some effort on my part. If Clove and I fought together against him, he'd be dead in a minute. But he'd make a strong ally. I look towards Brutus questioningly, and he nods. 12 is interesting. A tiny, young girl is called forward, and someone volunteers to take her place. They don't look similar – but I can tell by the desperation in the volunteer's voice that they have some relation to each other. There are no volunteers in this District. You're basically giving away your life with those two simple words. The girl casts a cold eye to the Camera. I examine her. She's small, but faint outlines of muscle are etched in her arms. Obviously, she's trained, and possibly she has talents in a weapon. But, still, she's an easy kill for both Clove and I. The boy looks nervous and as he shakes the girl's hand, his arms tremble. He's scared, and lacks confidence. _Bloodbath. _

I'm pleased with the result of the Reapings. There's no dire competition, no one to be worried about. Clove will win, and be crowned the victor of the 74th Hunger Games. We've made out with semi-decent allies and easy kills. It could be worse.

Enobaria, Brutus, and our escort disperse and all head to their separate rooms. I take Clove's hand and help her up. "Nothing to worry about. You're a winner."

oooo

"I'll kill you." I growl at my prep team. All three quiver in fear, but they continue to strip the hair from my legs. They know I can't hurt them without facing public execution, though if I had a weapon, it would be sorely tempting. "Almost done!" One says cheerily. They're all grotesquely colorful and fake. I wonder what's beneath all of the plastic surgery and body modifications? They're almost finished pulling out all of my leg hair when one of them sticks a syringe in my chin. The shock causes me to jump, and the needle jabs further into my skin, drawing blood. "You.. you can't grow a beard during the arena. This stops it," One of them whispers, bearing the brunt of my murderous gaze. So, now, they've taken away my manliness, too? Great.

My stylist enters. I can't tell if they're a male or a female; their body is too extremely changed and tattooed. Their voice is extremely thick and squeaky; and they speak to me, though I can't make out what they're saying. It's like listening to a bird chirping. They apply makeup to my face with a light hand and I grimace. Has all my masculinity disappeared? They gently draw lines along my arms to make my muscles appear more prominent, though I need little help in that area.

I close my eyes as they start to put on my outfit. I wince as the cold edges strike me. My eyes finally open and I stare at the full length mirror in front of me. I look.. hideously ridiculous. I'm wearing a golden gladiator outfit, and the main piece can only be described as a dress. Over my chest hangs armor; it looks some-what like a shield. The bottom part is a jagged circle of gold chips that barely stretch past the top of my legs. I'm wearing a matching head-piece, and sandals that match the theme of my dress twirl up my leg. My muscles are fully visible.

It's tempting to strangle my stylist, but I restrain myself. The Capitol will surely love this. I'm portrayed as a murderous fighter, and that's what I am. If I see any tribute even crack a smile when they see this getup, however…

I'm herded out to a main room by my stylist. Clove is already waiting. Her hair is up in a simple, messy pony-tail, and our outfits match. The ensemble clearly fits better for her than it does for me. Her makeup is applied gently; she doesn't need it, she's already beautiful. It's hard not to stare: they've revealed far more of her skin than they have of mine. Her chest is barely concealed in her tight corset, and her skirt is hiked up so high you're close to seeing her underwear. If they've allowed her to wear any.

She looks uncomfortable and angry. I see a red welt printed on her stylist's face, not hidden by their thick make-up. I laugh and take her hand. "I've learned something," I whisper, as we step onto the elevator. "What?" She murmurs, her eyebrows raised. "I have better self-control than you do," She raises her hand to punch my arm and then her cheeks start to glow red. "My point exactly." I smirk. "You'd be seething if they had you in this, too," She stares down at her exposed chest and her cheeks continue to darken. "Oh, don't fret. You'll make Capitol and Panem men alike drool. You'll be raking in the sponsors," I snicker. She pokes my arm. "You _may_ earn us a few dollars."

"Finally time to see the tributes," She breathes. "They'll look as weak in real life as they did on the screen." I say dismissively. "I'm sure the District 1 girl will be _very_ eager to meet you." She mocks me, and pretends to stare at me with doe eyes and pouted lips. "I hope the camera made District 11's arms look wider," She sighs. I flex for her, and she rolls her eyes. "Don't worry. I'll kill him," She nods, seemingly in relief. "Time to stalk our prey." She says, her eyes weary.

"Clove." I say, clenching her hand. "It's the Hunger Games. We're here. We can't change that. They have to die for us to live. No one can blame us for sparing our lives over theirs." She nods weakly, and starts to talk. "You're right. It's hard to think of hurting their families, however capable I am. It'll be tough to know that every time we pop up on screen someone is wishing for our death, and grieving for their child. I don't feel pity for those with automatic access to.. whatever's out there. Heaven. These tributes are pure. They won't suffer in the afterlife." Had this been anyone else, I would've scoffed and laughed at their words. But she's allowed to have insecurities – she's still undecided about what it really means to kill. "Clove," I brush my lips against the top of her head in an attempt to be affectionate – I'm not sure if it gives her any comfort. "Their families will honor their deaths. They'll know why they died. They'll move on. In a way, killing is an indirect form of saving them, like you said. No more pain, and no more suffering. You're practically a saint," She rolls her eyes at my lame attempt to joke around, and her face becomes serious. "Killing is hardly the most serious issue we're facing. In two weeks, one of us will be dead."

"I will be, and you will not be." I whisper. "What if…?" She murmurs. "No what-ifs. We're the two most talented tributes in this game. We're Careers." She grabs my face in her hands. "Cato, you can't die." She says fiercely. "We have a few days until the Arena. Let's ignore this, for now." I say. She nods, and I'm about to speak when the elevator lets out a sharp ding. The doors open and two tributes step in. District 1. They're both spray painted silver, jewels glued to the togas they're wearing. The boy speaks quickly. "I'm Marvel." I introduce myself. The girl immediately looks me up and down while Marvel stares at Clove. She glares at him when his eyes meet her chest and he quickly looks away. "I'm Glimmer!" The girl squeaks. Her voice is too high, too sweet and too fake. She's already got Marvel under her spell; I can tell by the way her looks at her as she's talking.

She's overly friendly in her greeting. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and plants a lingering kiss on my lips. Stone. Nothing like Clove's kisses.

I pull my lips from hers and lean down until my lips are less than an inch from her ear. She shivers and I can tell that she assumes I'm returning her affection. Clove glares daggers at us, and I can feel her shock and betrayal. I make my words loud, so both Clove and Marvel can hear. "I'm not an idiot. Go try it with someone else. You've already fooled him," I glance at Marvel. "Unfortunately, I think with my brain, as opposed to... So it won't work."

She springs back as though I've hit her. We remain in awkward silence for the rest of the elevator trip. Clove can hardly keep the smile off of her face, and both Marvel and Glimmer glower at me. The elevator finally arrives at the bottom floor and before we get off, I stop Marvel and Glimmer. "Allies?" Marvel looks at Glimmer quickly, and she nods. Clove smiles in an attempt to be friendly. "Us four are the best competitors in this Game." Marvel puffs out his chest and Glimmer looks appreciative, as though Clove has just given her a confidence boost.

Clove's words are sugar-coated and were only said in an attempt to gain Allies, and I smile approvingly at her. "So.. us.. we're for real, then? It must take a lot to turn her down," She says, a hint of jealousy evident in her tone. Jealousy is something new to her, and it amuses me. "It was absolutely effortless, if you need the truth." I say, and she bites her lip in pleasure. We walk to our Chariot. Gold designs are swirled up and down the horses' bodies to match our color. The Chariots are lined up in a row, and apart from District 1, our horses are the only designed ones.

We stare at tributes as they filter in. I glare at some, and size all of them up. As weak, if not weaker, then they appeared on the screen. Most look away in fear as my eyes meet theirs; none dare challenge or meet my gaze. It's hilarious to terrify them, and Clove kicks me multiple times. "Allow them to have some peace in the week they have left to live!" She hisses, but she can't hide her smirk. All are dressed laughingly. Their stylists attempted to dress them in things related to their District, and the result was truly sad. All are made weaker and more vulnerable in their ridiculous costumes. I have no idea how this is considered entertainment to the Capitol citizens.

The man from District 11 glares at Clove and I, and I make a swiping motion across my neck. He refuses to look away, as do I. His gaze finally parts mine when his tiny District partner taps him. "I'll kill him," I say angrily. The weaklings from District 3 hear and both stare, wide-eyed, at me. "What are you staring at, twerps?" They practically bang heads in the rush to look away. "Cato," Clove takes my hand and points to the tributes from District 12. Both are wearing plain black jumpsuits, and I laugh. "How impressive and imaginative." She rolls her eyes and points to the stylists. They're talking and the male has a control in his hand. "I heard them talking as they came in," She says. "They're lighting them on fire."

My voice is cool. "So, what'll this result in? Two charred tributes and two executed stylists?" She raises her eyebrows. "I'm sure they're _slightly_ more clever than that. If it works, they'll give us a run for our money," Her voice is surprised. "Tributes from 12? Fine, but they're both blood-baths, anyway. Don't worry." I murmur. Capitol workers finally start pushing the District 1 chariot out and then it's our turn. Glimmer and Marvel get loud cheers, but ours are bellowing and earth-shattering. We're the killers from 2. We're what will make the Games fun. Clove and I both wave, and we give an effort to appear as happy as possible. I smile, though it's incredibly forced. Roses are thrown at us, and I catch a few, and throw them back. Clove blows kisses and winks seductively at the crowd. Close-ups are shown of my muscles, and of her chest, as repulsive as it is. We're clearly the leading tributes. We're pulled from the view of the crowd as our Chariot reaches the depot. We can narrowly see the other tributes as their Chariots pull down the lane. The applause they receive is half-hearted, scattered and obligatory. The crowd wants more of us.

I'm about to turn away when the crowd explodes in applause. Clove steps up on her tippy toes and I glance over the heads of other tributes to see what's making the crowd go wild.

It's District 12. Apparently, their stylists' plan didn't get them killed. They're on fire. I'm not particularly impressed – but the crowd loves it. A layer of flame wreathes their bodies, and it appears real enough. Surely, this is the highlight of years of District 12 tributes. The two tributes link hands and raise their arms. They tease the crowd, and play along perfectly.

I glare at them. I don't hate them, personally – but they've taken away the attention of potential sponsors. For that, they must be killed so the money flows back to Clove and I. I'd kill them anyway, but now I have definite reason. "What are their names?" Clove considers this for a moment and bites her lip. "Katniss. Katniss and Peeta, I think." She says. A look passes between us and I know she's agreeing with me mentally. They're on our kill list.

The applause for District 12 finally dies down and all of us Tributes head back to our floors. Clove and I cram onto the elevator with a few other tributes. Those with us stick to the wall opposite us, and seem very keen to avoid our attention. "Clove?" I say, my voice loud. "Yes, Cato?" She stares at me lazily, a smile just touching her lips. "I forgot. Is it against the rules to kill them now..? Never mind. I don't care. I feel like killing _now_..," I pretend to lunge forward and screams fill the elevator. Clove yanks me back and pretends to whisper in my ear. "Not yet, Cato. Remember, that's what the blood-bath is for. Only a few days left!"

It's slightly humorous and slightly sad that in reality, I will be killing most of these tributes, whether it be in the initial blood-bath or later. They seem to realize that and cower against the smooth Capitol wall. Our stop comes and we get off. I cast one last loathing glance at the tributes before exiting.

"Cato, they're going to die, anyway. Why torture them now?" Clove crosses her arms and frowns. "It's… fun." I say. It is, and that's my reasoning. I have no other defense. "You have a sick, twisted mind." She says. "That's why you _love_ me." I grin. We settle on a couch in front of the screen to watch a re-cap of the Chariots. Clove and I sit close together, touching shoulders. Brutus shoots me a pleading look and Enobaria glares at us in disgust. Clove and I receive amazing amounts of applause and must some-how look thrilling, because delighted shots of the crowd are screened next to our footage. We appear strong, powerful, and undefeatable. Good.

The other districts are bleak and forgettable, as always. The applause rises slightly for the District 11 man, but the amount is small and basically unaffected. Katniss and Peeta come out. Their arrival completely overshadows ours, and their effect is greater than I had first thought. The amount of applause and screams they receive are massive, and they look more unbelievable from the screen than they did in person. I clench my fists so hard my nails make my palms bleed. _They've stolen our sponsors. They've stolen a percent of our chance at life. _Each cheer and clap they get is a hundred dollars taken from us. Clove looks as furious as I do, and I'm hit with a strong urge to kill them. Both of them.

_I will kill them._ I will mangle their bodies in the arena, first chance I get. I'd love to see the look on the girl's – Katniss' – face when she realizes that volunteering wasn't such a heroic thing to do after all.

Clove unclenches my hands. "Stop! You'll hurt yourself," She says. She licks her fingers and holds them over any spots that are bleeding. Brutus stares at us. Perhaps he's finally convinced that it's not an act. "You'll need full use of your hands if you're planning to kill anyone," She murmurs. We head to our room – it's become our base – and Clove instructs me to turn around while she changes into normal clothes. I do the same, and we're curled up in her bed quickly. She's asleep instantly, before we have the chance to talk, and I follow.

As I give in to the darkness, my last thoughts are of Clove, Katniss and Peeta, and the Hunger Games in general.

I hadn't realized there'd be any obstacles. I assumed Clove and I would be number one in all aspects, and I certainly took having the most Sponsors as a given. But, already, things are taking a turn for the worse. Of all the years that 12 actually had to stand out..

_They will be six feet under in two weeks, Cato. You'll be dead, but Clove will be alive. That's what matters._

The comfort of my words lulls me to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Clove POV**

I stare out the windows, curled up in my bed. Dawn is beginning, and the sky is a mix of violet, orange, and pink. The colors are soft, and peaceful, and I can almost imagine being back at home. The sunsets and sunrises are the only thing similar about my world, and this world. This bit of silence helps soothe me. It's almost as if I'm alone. As if I'm not a participant in the Hunger Games. As if I'm not stuck in the most heart-wrenching situation I've ever been through..

Cato whimpers in his sleep and I'm snapped out of my dreamy state. I hesitantly lean forward and stroke his hair. In his sleep, I see a different side of him. I see a side with fears. His head is curled against my chest, and I know if he were awake, he'd be horrified. Revealing a softer side, even to me, is difficult for him. I kiss the top of his head and his eyelashes flutter, but he continues to sleep.

A blush comes to my cheeks as I think how it may seem to him that I demand he sleep in my bed. I'm not like Glimmer. I want him here because I truly care about him, and I don't want to waste the short amount of time we have together. This is my way of saying that nothing we have is forged.

As I become lost in my thoughts, it's hard to believe I'm not dreaming. Less than a week ago, I was a girl, friendless and alone, eagerly anticipating the moment I could escape from the Training Centre and start to really _live_. I was waiting until the reaping after my 18th birthday, the reaping of the 76th Hunger Games, to volunteer. I was going to win, spit on my Trainer's feet, and claim what is rightfully mine. Freedom. I hadn't really considered life after the arena – I only knew that I'd finally try to figure out the identity of my parents', and that I'd finally explore Panem. The beautiful ocean of District 4. The large, looming mountains of my District. Perhaps I'd have children.

I'd never really considered love. I'm not sure when I realized what 'love' was, when I realized that it was human nature to… eventually care for someone in that way. We were given minimal schooling at the Centre – we were taught only basic survivalist skills, and once a month we were given private, one-on-one lessons about the Capitol. No truth, of course. Only sugary gushing. We never learned of life. I remember, once, going on a 'field-trip' to a museum full of literature. Books from long ago. Not understanding honor at the time, I swiped a few.

All were fairytales.. fiction, I believe? Fascinated, I tried to read whenever I could sneak a few minutes. Before our daily meal, the few minutes of down-time I had in the morning before Training. I've long since lost the books, but that's when I learned of the concept of love. Occasionally, when I was younger, 9 or 10 – I listened to the conversations of the older girls, the few times I was allowed near them. They talked about crushes, love came up once or twice. I had laughed at their ridiculousness. What is a boy when you're training to win the Hunger Games? A boy will get in your way. Love is nothing. I, arrogantly, believed myself incapable of loving another. I thought that it'd be easy. I'd gone so long with no love, no real care – I'd be set for life. I'd never need it, and I could live without it. I thought love was for petty fools. I thought you'd be able to control it.

How wrong I was.

Another thing – in the books I've read, in the sweet gushing I've heard from other girls, love was portrayed as … flawless. In fairy tales, the perfect girl and the perfect boy living in the perfect world fall for each other. Love always comes at the perfect time. Then, they can live happily ever after, sunshine and rainbows filling the rest of their days.

Love is not like _this_.

Why did it have to be Cato? Why did I have to be reaped?

Whatever higher power there is – if there is one … it must certainly despise me for reasons unknown. I am being sent to the death with a boy I love. We could've easily not been attracted to each other. What, honestly, were the chances of us meeting and being sent into the Hunger Games together…? What were the chances of me being reaped? If life truly was perfect, like most fairytales portray it, my situation would be a lot different right now. I'd still be at home. I'd watch as Cato won the Games, quickly – and brought more honor to Two. After he came home, we might've dated, had he come back for me. We'd move slower than we're moving now – at the moment, there's no time for acting like we don't care. We'd get married, and tour Panem.

I probably wouldn't have volunteered, had it worked out this way. The trainers wouldn't object to my leaving the Training Centre if I was being plucked out by a victor. I could swallow my pride and realize that one victor in a relationship is enough.

As I imagine this ideal scenario, my heart is clenched with such longing I think it's going to explode. _So perfect_. Our lives could've been so perfect. I'd like to believe this happened for a reason.. that this is our 'destiny'. But it's so easy to be sad and angry when you realize that one piece of paper… one name called… will change your life forever.

My heart seems to break as I remember the conversation we had yesterday. Cato pledged his life for me. He said he'd die for me. He thinks I've accepted the plan. He thinks I'll move on.

_I won't_. If he dies, I will break. I will die inside. I will be an empty shell of a person. Dramatic of me, perhaps – but I've given my all to him. We belong to each other. There is absolutely no other way… I'm not exactly the one to fall in love often. My mind will forever be consumed with the arena, memories of him. I will be engulfed by guilt. He will be able to understand that I died for him.. but, if it were me to win, my heart will never believe my reasoning. I will never be able to fool myself. It's absolutely insane for me to feel this way about a boy.. but already I cannot imagine my life without him.

I think it might be different for him – he should win. He loves me, I hope; but eventually he'd realize we were just teenagers. Among all the girls pining for him, he'd find someone. It'd be hard, but he could move on. He wasn't empty before me.. his life may be bleak, and that's hard for me to acknowledge, but he could hold on. He's Cato. He's something. I am nothing. One of us deserves to live; and one of us will – the most capable one.

I am willing to give up years of training, the chance to see the world, and the chance to find my family for him. But, as long as he promises to see the ocean for me – and possibly beat up a few of the Trainers – I'm fine. I hope I'll be able to meet my father, wherever I go, and I will wait for Cato. Forever, if I must. Love is a very strange thing, but the feeling in my gut hands me no uncertainty. Somehow, I know, sacrificing myself is the right thing to do. Flowers _will_ lie in front of my grave. I _will_ be remembered.

I think of our competition. Glimmer, Marvel, and the girl from District 4 are allies. The man from District 11 has already been eliminated from our ally list, I suppose – Cato's already developed a hatred for him. I could kill most of the other tributes. District 11 may offer trouble, but he's the only one. Besides, he could be an easy kill, too, if I put my mind to it. I'm a knife thrower and my aim is precise. No combat necessary.

Marvel is strong, but arrogance overpowers his common sense. He goes into a fight expecting no challenge, and that mindset is often deadly. Glimmer.. I have a feeling she may have a talent in knives, but I know she is amateur compared to me. She hasn't spent her whole life training.. her skill level suggests it as a side activity. The District 4 girl is talented, but again, she can't compare to someone whose life has revolved around training to win the Hunger Games.

District 12 flickers in my mind briefly. Katniss – the girl – immediately stood out to me. She volunteered for her sister, something admirable and certainly brave. But as I think of her, venom coils around my thoughts. Her chariot ride – in which her District partner and her were lit on fire – made the largest splash with the Capitol audience. Normally, 12 is horrible. The tributes are under-fed, make no impression, and die in the blood-bath. The Chariots are one of the most vital parts of the Games – they determine your starting amount of Sponsors. And Katniss – and Peeta – have taken away money from us.

You never know what will happen in the arena. Though us Careers are normally set, with hearty supplies from the Cornucopia, some Sponsor gifts save your life. Medicine for serious wounds – water – all of which Careers need and are not normally supplied at the Cornucopia.

I want to give Katniss some credit – she did save her sister, after all, and she will be dying – but already, I've marked her on my kill list. You do not take away attention from Careers and get away with it; whether your attempt was intentional or not. Cato's win must be sure and effortless.

Today, during group training, we'll be able to fully assess all the tributes. We'll be able to see if they have anything that makes them competition. And, like the usual Careers, we'll be able to intimidate them. Careers gravitate towards the Weapon stations, and as arrogant as it is, all of us show off our skills to the fullest ability. It almost makes me sick when I think, in a few weeks, almost all I see today – and am with for the next few days – will be dead. Their bodies white, collected and buried. Some in less than a week. How anyone – President Snow, the Gamemakers can live with this is beyond me.

Cato finally begins to stir. I push his head gently off my chest and allow him to wake up. Fighting the urge to giggle, I quietly get up, and launch myself onto his chest, so I'm sitting on him. He gasps and his eyes fly open. He starts to push me off – and I brace myself for pain – but then he realizes that it's only me. "Revenge for my hand." I say, smirking. He smiles at me, sleepily, gently and full of care. My heart flutters and I take his hand. I lean forward, and I can hear his heart race as I press my lips to his ear. His nervousness only makes my smirk grow wider.

Rather than the kiss he expects, I playfully pull him up. "Training today." I whisper.

"We'll finally be able to fully size up the 22 we're murdering." He says, grimly.

"The 22 that'll die so one of us can win…," I say, my voice low. "The 22 that'll die so _you _can win." He says firmly.

_No. The 22… and eventually 23.. that'll die so you can win._


	5. Chapter 5

**Clove POV**

I stare around the training room. I immediately start to smile softly. This is _home_ – yes, as disgusted as I am to be in the Capitol, this is what I'm best at. Racks of weapons line the room. I'll be able to practice, and show the one thing I'm talented at. I have nothing to be worried about. Other tributes around me are nervous – I doubt any know how to use weapons, and there's absolutely no way they can really learn in three days. If I were in the place of one of them, I'd be cracking. At least I have my talents with a knife, and a small bit of strength, to back me up. They have nothing. It's absolutely not their fault – I can't be arrogant about my skills. I've trained for years, and that's how I've amassed my experience. It's not like I picked up a knife and could immediately hit it on the target. It took time, and I had the opportunity. I guess, in a way, I'm blessed compared to these children whom have lived in poverty their whole lives. They have nothing to go into the Games with.

As a trainer speaks to us, I glance around the room. All 24 of us are standing in an awkward huddle: Cato, Glimmer, Marvel and I are in the center, asserting our… 'dominance'. The others are scattered. I take time to examine each and every tribute. I mark none off as weak or incompetent. All have a certain something about the way they hold themselves: I find intelligence in some, strength in others. But, most truly look physically weak. As little as I know about the other Districts, I can assume that the majority have been worked to the bone – whether it be in factories or fields I know not. Sure, work benefits some. But not when you're given 18 straight hours of back-breaking labor; with pay too little to nourish your family. All look underfed – it's shameful that while Capitol citizens eat so luxuriously, the Districts do not. We're simply pieces, things that make the Capitol go round. We're only alive to provide for the Capitol: whether it be by giving them grain, or giving them… children. Most of the tributes throw anxious, wide-eyed stares towards my little group.

They hadn't realized Careers _actually_ looked this threatening in real life. Their hope is slowly beginning to fade, but yet there's that tiny gem in their heart that tells them that maybe, somehow they'll be able to defeat us and win. Wrong. I slap my hand to remind myself to have a bit of compassion. After all, this year, 4 Careers will be dead. Two from District 1. Me. One from District 4. Some years, all the Careers die. It's actually laughable that most Careers act so smugly – because, in the end, the majority, if not all, will be dead. 23 of us tributes are in the same boat. We have a few weeks to live. Nobody can claim they are above in that aspect. It's slightly comforting to know that I'm not the only one so torn – others are kissing their dull lives good bye, as well.

We're dismissed and all the tributes filter away to various stations. Perhaps, I should go to a useful station – first aid or survival – but my greed wins out. I want to get my hands on my precious knives. Anyway, us Careers avoid 'lowly' stations. Unfortunately, we're expected to maintain a certain image. Since we take over the Cornucopia, and since our Sponsor level is always the highest, we need few outdoor skills. "Let's sort out our allies first," Cato says, smirking at my longing gazes. "Knives can wait." Marvel and Glimmer stare at us, and Marvel quickly nods at a scathing glare from Cato. "Girl from 4." Cato says. "Boy?" I say. "Look at him." Cato says. At my examination the boy stares hopefully at us, but he's sent back-tracking as Cato starts to laugh. His laugh is cold and cruel, and I pinch his hand angrily. Marvel and Glimmer join him, and Cato leans forward to whisper into my ear. "It's not like he isn't going to die.. look.. I'm sorry."

I take a deep breath and close my eyes before responding. "It's just.. he's so small.. and young. I can't get used to it." I'm weak, and I'm stupid. But the child from District 4 doesn't deserve death, and he will get it. I can spare some dignity for his last few days on Earth. Cato winces, and can only spare me a stare of sorrow – we can't show affection here. Not in front of Marvel and Glimmer. "No more suffering." He whispers, and I nod. Marvel and Glimmer continue to laugh, though Cato has stopped. I snap. "Shut up, or both of you will be out of this group!" I yell. Glimmer stops, and stares at her feet, nervous. Marvel only smirks. "Who says that's your choice?" He says silkily. He laughs, as though expecting Cato and Glimmer to join him. I kick his shin with all my might, and he curses and starts to limp. "_I_ do." I hiss, my voice coarse with venom. "Cato!" He yelps.

Cato stares at him icily. "You decide, District 1. In or out?" Marvel is shocked into silence and stares at us, his mouth gaping. "Apologize." Cato demands. "I-I.. sorry, Clove." Marvel murmurs, his voice sulky. After a moment of silence, Glimmer's perky voice fills the air. "How about we go find the District 4 girl?" Cato nods his consent, and we approach her. She's at the spear-throwing station, and she's good enough. As she sees us approaching, she attempts to impress us. But you can tell she's nervous, and the spear she flings lands on the edge of the target. Marvel smirks.

"I'm Clove." I say, smiling at her. "Obviously, you're fit to be a Career. Would you like to join us?" The girl looks amazed at my comment. "I'm Thalia." She mutters, and nods. She has long black hair, and she's tall. She's only an inch or so below Marvel. She glances at her district partner guiltily, and I grab her hand. "Sorry, but…," I say, nodding towards Marvel and Glimmer. She looks surprised. "Thanks." She says. Cato only glances at me warily. One compassionate Career is more than enough. Glimmer and Marvel didn't catch our exchange.

"So… District 11 next?" I say, coolly. "Thresh?" Thalia says. "That's his name…? Yes. He's strong." I say. Glimmer and Marvel head towards the station he's at hesitantly, glancing at Cato. "Go on." He barks. "One second." Thalia lingers, and I make a pointing motion with my hand. She goes.

"I guess we know who's the leader of this group, then?" I tease. He raises his eyebrows. "If I have to deal with that idiot any longer, I may have to pass ownership to you." He growls, staring daggers at Marvel. "He's a Career. It's what he was raised to be." I smirk. "Clove." Cato says, seriously. "You care, and you're loving." I look away. He takes my chin in his hands and turns it. "But you can't show them that. They'll use it against us, eventually." He bites his lip. "So I'm supposed to be pretend that I'm fine with them acting like children are animals? They're not like us.. they don't kill with the philosophy of granting the entrance to a peaceful afterlife. They kill for fun." I whisper. "The cameras expect us to be ruthless, cold and blood-thirsty. As much as you hate it, it'll give us Sponsors. Only two weeks of pretending, and you're free to go home." He says. I nod. I know – I can't show compassion, publicly. It's a weakness, and I must stop. Our lives may depend on it. I will not let my problem cause Cato inconvenience. It's time to start acting. "I'm sorry.. I know. You shouldn't have to deal with the consequences of my poor decisions. I'll change."

I suddenly realize how odd we must look as I quickly glance around the room. I'm on my tip-toes, in an attempt for my whispers to successfully reach Cato's ears. We're standing too close to each other, and our positions are too practiced. We're acting like this is normal – and though it is, no one can know.

Half a dozen tributes are staring at us, Marvel looks smugly knowing, Glimmer looks envious, and Thalia looks surprised.

I step away, and we walk casually over to join the others near Thresh.

"I don't want him." Cato murmurs. "I want to kill him." I unclench his tight hands. "He'll be a valuable ally. Trust me, when we break up – or if he steps out of line – you can kill him. But he may help us in fights and sponsors," I murmur. I look at Thresh – he pretends not to notice the small group, waiting for us, gathered around him. He's tall – around the same height as Cato – and muscled. He's weaker than Cato, but he's stronger than Marvel. He could kill, easily. His talent in weapons is mediocre – you can tell by the unsure way he holds his spear, and his shaky shots that land far from the bullseye. But he's strong. And the cold, hard look in his eyes is sure to attract sponsors. Just staring at him makes me uneasy – but if it came down to it, I could kill him, too. I'm ashamed for thinking of his life as though it's a currency – but I've found that I truly care little for tributes apart from Cato.

I tap his shoulder and nod. "Hello, Thresh." I coo. Glimmer smiles sweetly at him. "Would you like to be our ally? Clearly you have a lot to offer," I run my hand along his arm and touch the hand that's gripping a spear. Cato's expression is a mixture of amusement and subtle jealousy at my pitiful attempt to act seductively towards Thresh. Thresh laughs coldly and shakes his head. "Why would I join you..? You're nothing more than a bunch of cold-blooded murderers. I'd rather die." Cato looks furious, and begins to near Thresh, a murderous expression on his face, when I stop him. "No." I whisper.

I dig my nails into Thresh's hand, drawing blood. "Tip your nose down on us. Call us whatever you wish. _View_ us however you wish. But we're doing what we have to, to survive. We can't change the Hunger Games – us being in it, them happening. So we try our best to break free of this hell," I whisper angrily. "Do you think I trained voluntarily? _I didn't_. So maybe you should learn before you assume." I slam my hand into his chest – it's just enough to make him stumble. No trainers notice. The shock is obvious on Thresh's face, and before he can recover I swiftly walk away. We filter to different stations: Cato to swords, Thalia to tridents, and Marvel to axes. To my surprise, Glimmer follows me.

She watches me for a few moments while I fling knives into the targets. My throw is forceful – I'm fuelled by anger towards Thresh, and Panem, in general. Nobody cuts Careers slack. Nobody. It's far too easy to hate someone when you have no idea what their life is like. Panem only sees our cold, uncaring outside. A small bit of warmth, wondering – even insecurity – makes up my inside. I'm, actually, not that bad. But when I'm murdering innocent tributes on screen, it's hard to come to that conclusion. And that saddens me.

"Clove?" Glimmer says hesitantly. I nod, not turning to look at her. "How'd you get him to like you? Cato?" I stop in mid-aim and stay silent. "I'm sorry if.. what I did was shameful. I just need to get out of the arena..," She says. "Try it with Marvel, then." I say. She winces, and a mournful expression comes to her face. "I don't want to die! I have so much waiting for me back home!" She says, her voice shaky. I wait for her to go on. "I'm engaged – to someone I actually love. I have a family! Younger siblings. In two weeks, I was supposed to take my little sister, Diamond, to a dance at her school. Before I was reaped, we picked out her dress.. she was so excited.. and, my brother, I promised to teach him how to hold a knife, and toss one. My mother, she's having another child soon.. after the Reaping, we were going to pick a name together." Tears fall down her cheeks. "I love them so much.. and, my fiancé and I, we already planned out our life together. Our children's names. Our home. I'm 18! This was my last year. I'm so young.. I was going to have such a full life."

My heart breaks for her, and for everyone that dies in the Games. They have so much potential. Everyone in this room has someone that cannot live without them. Glimmer.. Cato must leave. She cannot. I can't afford to get attached, to feel for her..

I was an idiot. I was an idiot to assume that winning the Hunger Games would be a piece of cake, that I could be out of the arena in a few days and then be fine and free. The honor, the thought of being able to never train again clouded my judgment. There's such a bigger emotional impact – 23 others dying.

"We only live once! My life.. it can't be over so soon! My siblings, they'll be watching me die from our T.V set!" Glimmer looks enraged now, and I catch her eye. "I'm sorry. I've lived my whole life training for this. I don't have family, or friends.. just C-..," I stop myself quickly and clear my throat. "So I can't really understand. The Games, they've always been looked at as an escape for me." Glimmer stays silent. I can tell, the idea of my warped life is new to her. She knows freedom.

"I guess we're both unlucky." Glimmer stops her tears, and I can tell that her minute of breaking was a rarity. I'm not likely to see her weak side again. She stares at Cato. "Are you using him? Does he care about you?" She says, her voice low.

"I've never really cared about someone before. But, for all I know, I..," I stop, unsure of what to say. "I guess I really wish I didn't have to go into the Games with him..," I say. "What does.. love feel like?"

My question is juvenile – like I'm a child asking a parent. But this is likely the only 'girl talk' I'll ever have. I want to know. Glimmer smiles softly, and closes her eyes. "You'd do anything for them. You're always thinking about them.. it's hard to explain. You know they're right." I visibly shiver and her smile droops. "I'd give anything to see him again." She whispers. "But at least I'm not here with him..,"

I object and she closes her hand over mine. "What use is it, lying to me – or yourself, now?" She laughs drily and exasperatedly. "Tell him everything. Tell him how you feel, there's so little time left. I wish I could talk to my beloved once more. But I don't know my fate, and there's a chance that I won't be able to. So make the best use of what so many of us," She makes a swooping motion around the room, "Wish we had." She smiles at me before leaving. "You don't have much to lose. Cato won't even look at me, and he glances over at you _far_ too often.. Don't be worried. At least Marvel's stupid enough to fall for my act."

As she laughs and walks away, I'm left to process the conversation. Had Glimmer really just spoken to me? I suppose, now, we're something more than allies. Not friends, but we're there for each other. Though, normally, had we met outside of here, we would've never spoken. But this is the Hunger Games. We each need somebody – now she knows I feel something for Cato, and she has revealed details of her life to me. Certainly, if she's willing to tell me her innocent girl persona is an act, she's trustworthy.

It's habit for me to deny anything I may feel, and it's easier to push feelings away than face them. Glimmer has just told me what I've needed to tell myself – eventually, I'll tell Cato that I.. love him. _Love_ him. I will stop allowing my mind to refuse the word, and I will fully acknowledge what I feel. Truly, we have so little time left. _There are no second chances, _I think, before hurling a knife into a target.

oooo

"Eat." Cato whispers. "No." I say. I do not want to owe the Capitol anything. They will have nothing to hold against me. Even though food is something small that doesn't matter to them, touching anything prepared by their hand disgusts me. Knowing that I've taken something of theirs without pay – regardless of whether it's free, or not – makes me uncomfortable. Cato sighs and we walk to the lunch tables. Glimmer and Marvel are already sitting at the largest one in the middle. Other tributes are scattered around the smaller tables, mainly sitting alone. Cato and I sit next to each other, and I ignore the intense stare Marvel sends us. Thalia sits next to Marvel and Glimmer sits alone. We eat in silence, since slaughtering kids isn't exactly a topic for casual conversation. How the lunch tables look is practically laughable – piles of gourmet food surrounded by racks of weapons designed to murder children. Lovely.

I spent the whole morning indulging in my knives. Cato practically had to drag me away when the lunch bell rang, and my hands are still itching to get back. I tried to be as aware as possible of my surroundings. Cato joined me at my station a few times, still disbelieving of my ability. Glimmer is acting as though our little chat never happened, but she occasionally sends knowing glances my way. Thalia and I talked, shortly, to my surprise. She joined me at the knife station, and as I showed her a basic throw, we chatted. A shooting pain fills my stomach as our eyes meet. She spoke sorrowfully about her family and her life back home. As much as I tried to ignore her and tone out her voice; I still learned about her. She's one of the main providers for her large, struggling family. Without her, they will..

I stop myself. I'm growing far too attached to my allies. How will I allow Cato to kill them when our alliance splits up – or how will I be able to kill them if it comes down to it?

A loud laugh breaks the peace of my thoughts. The District 12 tributes, Katniss and Peeta, are sitting together. I stare at them. Both look uncomfortable; their obnoxiously strained bellowing is obviously forced. I smirk. Why try holding up an act if you can't maintain it? I guess it's their only option, though. They're from 12. From the way they've been hanging around useless stations, I know they have few talents and a small chance of surviving in these Games. It's hard not to feel superior to them.

The end of lunch is announced by the loud chime of a bell; I immediately bound up from my chair and head to my station. I start chucking knives and after 15 minutes grudgingly make my way to a sword station. Avoxes are stationed as testers for direct combat. I pick up a blunt, heavy sword and swing it around a few times, getting adjusted to the feel of it in my hands. I nod at the Avox, he picks up a wide, thin blade and we begin to spar. Clearly, I'm not amazing. But I'm smaller and lither than him, and I manage to slip in and out of his way as his blade meets mine. Eventually, after 3 minutes of fighting, I overpower him and knock him over. I press my blade to his throat and quickly jump up. "Thank you, and sorry," I whisper.

I'm pleased with my efforts and am about to head back to the knife station when I hear a scuffle. I distinctly pick up Cato's voice, shouting. I instinctively run towards his yell. He's on the far-end of the Training Centre, arguing with the District 5 boy. They're almost fully hidden by a large rack of weapons, and only Cato's voice and occasional flashes of a '2' and a '5' tag let me know they're there. "Stealing my weapon won't magically give you my skills, you idiot!" Cato fumes, his voice furious. The boy curses at him and Cato's about to lunge at him when I reach them. I grab his arm and pull him back, though it takes effort and strain on my part. "Cato, calm down." I whisper in his ear. "Clove." His voice becomes relaxed, and as he glances at me, he smiles at my ridiculous pose. I'm on my tippy toes, and still have to lean some, to even reach his ears. His warm smile melts my heart and I return the gesture. He gently pushes me down. "You'll hurt yourself." He murmurs, and pushes a small lock of hair from my face.

I've forgotten the District 5 boy is there – until he speaks to Cato. "You really think that bitch cares about you? I hadn't realized you were so stupid, Two." He laughs, his voice snarky and his face full of contempt. I try to stop Cato – but his anger overpowers his logic. He smashes District 5's face with his palm, bowling him over. The boy hits his head on the edge of a table and is immediately knocked out. Trainers notice and rush towards us, and one of them grabs Cato. "Cato!" I shriek, panicked. What do they do to tributes who break the rules and fight others..? Do they kill them? "No!"

I try to follow, but one of the Trainers restrains me. I'm desperate, and I waste no time thinking as they drag Cato away. "Cato!" I struggle, and something heavy is smashed over my head.

The rush of the impact shocks me. I spit something out on my hand, and I vaguely realize it's blood. I hear shouting, and I shakily connect it to Cato's voice. A screen, gray and fuzzy, invades my vision. The gray slowly fades to black and I'm left in silence. I fight against the darkness, the deafness, but it wins, and takes over.

_Cato.._

oooo

When I wake up, my mind is fuzzy. It takes a while for me to remember where I am. At first, I think I'm at home in District 2. Waking up for a day of training, as usual. But the gentle feel of hands stroking my hair tells me otherwise.

Suddenly, I remember everything and I whip my head up from his lap. "Cato!" I wrap my arms around him and start to sob. It's incredibly girlish of me – but the worry and horror of the past few hours, along with the hollow aching of my head, makes me crack. He holds me tight, and sighs in relief. "Clove." I soon pull myself together and glance around. We're in a small, pod-like, steel room. The two narrow, metal chairs we're sitting in are the only things in sight. The doors are sealed – there's no use trying to open them.

Cato sits in one of the chairs – I was stretched across him only moments before. Blood stains his thighs, and I reflexively jolt my hands up to feel my head. Blood is seeped through a cloth wrapped around my head. Cato's shirt is missing. "I'm sorry," He says. "It was the only thing I had to stop the bleeding."

"What happened?" I ask, my voice full of curiosity. Anger flares in his eyes and he clenches his fists, which I notice are covered in bruises. I stroke my hand across them, and he winces. "I got into a fight with that District 5…," He murmurs a curse and I raise my eyebrows. "I was training and he started egging me on, about you, the girl from District 1, and the girl from District 4." His knuckles crack viscously and he grinds his teeth. "That dweeb was following me around, and I put my sword down for a second and he swiped it. If it weren't for you being here with me, I would've snapped his neck, right there and then." He makes a violent motion with his hands. "He'll be the first one dead as soon as we get into the arena."

How can I be regretful of the District 5 boy's looming death when he's caused this for Cato and I? Who knows what awaits us when we're allowed to leave this room?

"Then you came. As I said, who knows how far I would've gone without you …?" His expression sends chills through me. "Then, after what he said... You will not be called that by _anyone_, especially not by that pitiful excuse for a human being." He bites his lip, drawing blood. "Stop beating yourself up," I warn, my voice low. I forcefully pry his lips apart and he smiles. "You're worried about _me_." He snorts, and gently brushes his hand across my forehead.

"Go on." I smile. "I knocked him out, and the Trainers came. They dragged me away. You came running after me, and they tried to hold you down. You wouldn't give up, so one of them smashed a bow over your head." His voice drips with fury, and he hurls his fist into his palm angrily. "I punched the ones holding me. You collapsed. Your head was gushing blood – you were out cold – it took all my self-control.. not to kill them… I picked you up. They had the sense to leave us alone, after that; they allowed me to carry you until we were out of the Training Room. One of them must've drugged me, because I woke up here."

"I tried opening the door – nothing happened," He points to the bruises spread across his knuckles. "None of them.. none of those… even had the decency to bandage you up. I woke up next to you. You were in a pool of blood.. had you been de-," He looks so utterly livid; I try my best to comfort him. "I'm fine." It's not a complete lie – I'm still fuzzy – but my injury is a minor drawback. From what I can tell, it's not a concussion, and if I'm lucky, I'll be better by the time we're in the arena.

"I had to use my shirt to use as a bandage, and I tried to set you up across the chairs. My lap seemed like a better pillow for your head than anything else." He says. I sigh. "What'll happen to us?" I mutter. He frowns, unsure. "We broke a major rule.. Maybe they'll kill us." I say. "I broke a major rule._ Not_ you. They'd have to get through me before touching you." He says, infuriated. It's horrible to imagine that they may kill us for this – dead before we can even arrive in the arena. It's the Capitol – you never know what they're capable of. "I guess we'll have to wait and see." I say.

"Do you think any of the other tributes noticed…?" I say. "I doubt it," He says. "We were behind that row of weapons – and at the far end of the room – everyone else was near the front." I nod, grateful. It's for the better if no tributes know of my injury – and Cato's fight. "Clove.. forgive me." Cato says, clenching my hand. "I can't let.. it take control of me. My temper. I had nothing to lose, until I found you. Now my decisions can harm not only me, but…" I laugh, shortly. "Cato, I can fight my own battles. You had every right to go after the Five boy – we both heard him. I'll always side with you – I don't care what the circumstances are."

He's about to respond when we hear a short click. The doors to the room open, and in walks some sort of Capitol official. She's dressed simply, in a gray suit, not in the usual fashion expected of a Capitol citizen. She notices how close Cato and I are and a bit of softness fills her cold blue eyes. "You two are lucky. The Capitol has always valued its tributes from District 2, and you are not the first from that District to stir up trouble. It's far too late to replace you now, and the Gamemakers like the promise you show. Both of you are strong." Her voice is surprisingly low and clear. "As punishment for your actions, you will not be able to attend the remainder of today's Training – it is knowledge lost. For the remaining three hours, you will be expected to report to your rooms on your floor. Behave maturely next time and from now on, or the consequences _will_ be severe. You are not to leave your District floor, or cause commotion; and if you do so, you will be given more penalty." She ushers us out of the room. Surprisingly, the room exits into the lobby of the building all tributes stay in.

Cato and I jump in the elevator. I hug him, relief and shock making my eyes water. We've gotten off _very_ easily, and both of us know it. Neither of us will miss the few hours of training we're banned from. We don't need it. "_Never again_, will I be so stupid," He whispers, his lips pressed against my head. "We're lucky." I say, and take his hand. The elevator dings and we arrive at our floor. Though we check all the rooms thoroughly, no one is there. "We have the whole floor to ourselves." Cato smirks. Even the Avoxes have been dismissed – no one is supposed to need tending to.

I head to my bathroom, rip the blood-stained shirt off of my head and run water over my matted hair. The clearness of my mind is gradually coming back, and as I run my hands over the back of my head I can feel a small, hard bump. It hurts to the touch, but the pain on the surface has disappeared. I will function normally in the arena. I'm overwhelmed with relief. _Cato and I aren't dead. Our chances in the arena aren't narrowed._

As I examine myself in the mirror, I notice Cato behind me. I launch myself at him impulsively and he wraps his arms around me. I bury my face in his shoulder and allow the tears to fall. "We're alive. We're fine…," I whisper, my words soft and raw. His arms suddenly go rigid and I slowly pull my head up. We lock eyes, and seem to realize at the same time..

We are alone; we have our District floor to ourselves. We have only a few days together before we are thrust into the arena. I love him, and I've already given my all to him.. but yet..

He smiles at me. "Maybe you should… get a new shirt," I say, nervously, finally noting his lack of one. He smirks briefly at the ruined, ripped, bloody mess on the floor, before his expression grows gentle. "I don't think I should leave you." He says, softly. "One second." I say, my voice fluttery and light. He nods, his eyes lingering on mine. "I'll be in my room." He says, before shutting the door behind him. His words hide an undertone, one the butterflies in my stomach won't allow me to decode.

I've never been close to anyone. My skill does not lie in romance, it lies in knives. I know very little about boys.. about love.. and about what a relationship stands for. I examine myself in my mirror. My hair is full of knots, my eyes are bloodshot, and my skin is blotchy. I'm far from pretty. I try brushing my hair out, and I throw on a simple cotton shirt and pants. I don't bother with make-up, as I know so little about applying it, anyway. I take a deep breath and leave my room.

I open his door without knocking. He's sprawled out on his bed, and his eyes light up when he sees me. He hasn't bothered putting on a shirt; and he's changed into a pair of shorts from his blood-soaked trousers. My insides melt when I see him, and a blush comes to my cheeks. There's no denying that he truly holds all claims to my heart. I sit beside him, and both of us remain still and silent for a while. I conquer my butterflies and hesitantly lean forward. He takes my face in his hands and starts to kiss me, gently before becoming slightly more forceful. He leans back and I'm about to follow when I pull away.

His eyes widen in surprise, and a questioning look shows on his face. He brushes my hair back from my face. "Clove?"

"I.. love you." I say, for the first time. "I love you, so much. But-" I lower my face in shame. "I'm not like Glimmer.. this isn't.. easy. I've never been with anyone.. I know you're right, but.. I'm not ready yet." My eyes are tipped to the ground and he pushes my chin up gently to look in my eyes. "I don't want a Glimmer. I want you," He says, softly. "I didn't mean to .. force you, Clove."

I try again. "I'm absolutely sure of you.. but, we're moving so fast.. it's a lot to take in." My cheeks burn in shame, and I turn away. "I've never… done anything like.. that. I've never desired it, and I've never had the chance to.. try this. Romance," I say. "You already know, before I came here.. I hadn't even kissed anyone." I murmur. "I care about you in that way, and I'm sorry." I kiss his cheek, slowly and hesitantly. He closes his eyes and sighs. "I shouldn't have assumed that you'd be so willing, Clove."

I take his hand. "We have every right to act impulsively." A small smile plays at his lips. "It doesn't mean we should." He whispers.

We pull up chairs to the Capitol window and stare outside. I try to ignore our moment and start to talk. "When do you think the Hunger Games will end?" I say. His gaze hardens and he frowns. "They can't go on forever.. eventually, someone will over-throw the Capitol. Perhaps a future president will have a change of heart." I get up and grab a note-pad and pencil from his bed-side table. The paper is gold, fine; too pretty to use. I rack my brain and scribble a few numbers down. As I stare at my messy writing, I lose my breath. "Over… 1,700..," I say, my words shaky and uneven. More than 1,700 tributes have died.. so far. "And yet they're nothing more than a number; a statistic no one cares about." I'm about to fall apart. "Clove." Cato lunges forward and steadies me.

I can't bring any of the dead back. The best I can do is try to honor their memory. I have to stop falling apart; because I can't change the Hunger Games. I can only wish that someday they'll stop. "Cato.. when you leave the arena.. try your best to stop them, okay? The Games." My voice is flimsy and ragged.

"Yes, for y-," He starts, before his eyes widen and his words cut off. "I'm not leaving the arena, Clove.. you are." His voice is high, small and begging. "How will I live, Cato? How will I go on, knowing the life we could've had…? I'd be tortured, forever; knowing you could've gotten out, instead of me!"

"You think it'll be any different for me…?" He pleads. "But.. you're different than I am…," My sentence trails off. "I guess we give each other too much credit. We're both breakable." I murmur.

I jump when he slams his fist into the polished Capitol window. The glass splits instantly, spraying shards over us. "Cato..?" I say, my hands shaking. "Why'd I have to meet you.. here? Here? Of all the times we could've seen each other. And, of all the people I could've….," He pauses. "Of all the people I could've fallen in love with." He winces. "Why'd we have to be sent here together..?" His fire, the anger in his voice, is gone.

"You're going to be the victor of the 74th Hunger Games." He says, gently pulling a small shard of glass from my hand. His voice is final, and full of authority. "No. Cato, I am not leaving without you." I growl forcefully. "Yes, Clove, the sooner you accept it, the better." His voice rises angrily. "No!" I shriek. I leap up from my chair, run into his bathroom, slam the door and turn the lock. I press my back to the door as tears stream down my face.

My whole life, I've been indifferent. Good at boxing things up. I couldn't afford to let my emotions run free.. now, my heart is shattering, breaking; slowly and painfully. Why lie? Why act like I can go on without Cato?

_How will we be able to survive this..?_


	6. Chapter 6

Cato POV

I hear a thud and a sharp cry of pain. My eyes fly open and it takes me a moment to realize where I am. In the Capitol. Laying in front of Clove's door. Enobaria stands before me, towering over my hunched frame. I dully register a hollow ache in my stomach… that cry came from me. I leap up angrily when I put two and two together. She must've kicked me.

"_You.." _I growl. She only laughs. "Are you _that _desperate, pretty boy?" Her voice is smug. "Shows how much she.. loves you. Didn't come out once yesterday, and left you out here all night. _Ignored_ you. What'd you do to piss her off, baby?"

I'm angry, sure – but her words hit me, and all the events of yesterday stream into my mind. I bury my face in my hands, and try to ignore Enobaria's cruel giggling. "What's it like, to know that no one in this world loves you?" She whispers, sweetly. That really gets me. I lunge forward – I don't care how much trouble it'll get me in – and my hands close in around her throat. She crossed the line, and I don't feel like thinking logically. I squeeze lightly and she claws at my hands. I'm not going for the kill – no matter how angry she has made me; killing, especially a victor, will get Clove and I murdered before the Games even start. I want to tease Enobaria. To scare her. To show her how defenseless she is against me. I can kill her, and maybe I won't hesitate to the next time she crosses me.

Her face is beginning to turn purple when my hands are gently lifted off of her throat. Clove comes to stand next to me, and she raises her eyebrows. "Are you insane?" She murmurs, and there's a bit of laughter behind her seriousness. Enobaria stares at us, trying to catch her breath. "Oh, Enobaria," Clove says, her voice icy and cool. "I'm sure you know what it's like to live without love, especially with that _winning_ personality and those _gorgeous_ teeth." Enobaria's stare turns into a glare.

Enobaria turns to walk away when Clove stops her. "We never did anything to you. Why do you hate us? We're about to go into the arena – it's not worth the effort for us to keep fighting." Clove's voice is commanding and fair, and I admire her patience. She's level-headed.. something I've never been. Enobaria's face turns a bright shade of red, and she stutters. "I-I… fine. We're even. I won't report you," She points towards me, "Let's just forget all of this ever happened.. and I, er… I'll stop."

Clove and I are left alone as Enobaria hurries away. I bask in our triumph – we hold something over one of the fiercest victors. We forced her arrogant mask to break. "Not your smartest idea," Clove says softly, a smirk on her face, snapping me out of my glory. "It's just…," I say, stumped. I don't have any excuse for my impulsiveness. She smiles slightly, and reaches to gently touch my cheek when she pulls her hand back abruptly. She bites her lip and turns her head away.

"Clove, what's wro-? …. Oh." I say awkwardly. My face burns, and I know that yesterday's on her mind, too. I can't apologize enough for what happened. As soon as we get into the arena, that idiot from Five is getting it. As soon as Clove is busy during the Bloodbath, as soon as she's not paying attention… his death will be slow. Maybe then he won't be so smug. Let him regret running his mouth. It's sort of humorous that I don't care if Panem, the Capitol, or my fellow tributes see me torture and kill a tribute – yet, when it comes to Clove, I'm ashamed of what I can, and will, do.

"How's your head?" I say. I'm even angrier at the Capitol scum that hurt her. I don't know how I controlled myself.. I would've killed all of them. All of them. No one can touch her like that – she was innocent. They should've beaten me bloody. She deserved nothing. "Fine. Please, stop worrying." She rolls her eyes half-heartedly.

"Cato… by the way.. I'm sorry.. about, you know." Her voice trails off and she lowers her eyes. I've never thought about _really_ being with a girl – and I'm not sure what I was expecting yesterday. I respect her wishes; I've lived long enough without .. that. I don't need it now; and I care about her.. not her body. "I'm sorry, too." I say quietly.

"Damn it!" I nearly jump as Clove shrieks. "You're _too_ amazing.. I love you, okay? I love you! I'm done pretending to be an emotionless Career; and I'm done pretending that my feelings for you aren't completely … crazy, and _way_ too powerful!" Tears stream down her face, and she flings herself at me. I open my arms in surprise. "I'm such an emotional, dramatic mess." She says, sighing. "But, Cato, I truly do.. love you. Even without all these.. extra emotions the Games cause."

I love her, too. I don't know what that word means and what defines it; but what I know is that what Clove and I have is more than a childhood crush. Everything about her is perfect.. her compassion, her insecurities, her kindness, her unwillingness to be owned, her fight. I didn't know I was capable of caring for anyone the way I care about her. And I know she and I … we're a once-in-a-lifetime thing.. what's it called..? Soulmates. She's the only person I'll ever love – and it's saying something that I can be so sure in such a small amount of time. Without her, I am nothing. I may still live, sure; but I won't work properly again. I'll fade after years of being useless. So, she must win and get out of the arena – yes, she'll feel pain over her loss; but I'm so selfish that I can deal with that, as long as she's alive and well. It wouldn't be fair of me to voice what I feel. When I die, does she really need to feel more pain?

Her expression becomes determined and solemn and she squeezes my hands. "We're together now, Cato. Whatever happens in the arena, we're a team.. and I-I don't know what our destiny is, but I know we're entwined. We'll just have to wait and see.. Promise me.. you'll stay with me. Forever." Before I can react her lips press against mine. I'm frozen in place. The kiss stands for more than just love; it's a promise. A vow.

"I promise." I whisper. I'm so desperately angry. The feeling is so hopeless – one of us, me, will die for the other to get out. I couldn't live with myself if Clove… look at me. A tough Career, yet I'm falling apart over her. She deserves to get out of the arena; safe and able to live her life. I will sacrifice everything for her … let it be enough.

oooo

We eat breakfast and then head down to our second day of Training. All the tributes are gathered for the short talk we're given; and we head towards our alliance.

I stare down the other members of the Career alliance, one by one. Marvel holds my gaze for a few seconds, before turning away, his cheeks red in shame and defeat. Thalia and Glimmer both glare at me defiantly, and when they realize I'm not letting up, they slide their gaze downward.

In all honesty, I care nothing for any of them. Career alliances are only put together because they make the Games interesting. 5 or 6 of the strongest contestants put together – that means more deaths (… at least, more violent ones), more sponsors, and more fear among the 'lower' tributes. It's every Capitol citizen's dream-come-true.

Marvel, Glimmer and Thalia aren't ideal. Clove and I could easily kill all of them – and we probably will. But, three more Careers helping us will amount to more deaths during the Bloodbath. Fewer people that Clove will have to watch me kill. So, for now, they'll do.

The trainer finally finishes her short speech, and starts to list rules. When 'no fighting among tributes before in the arena' is mentioned, half the heads in the room turn my way. The District 5 boy bites his lip and nervously avoids my stare. I can tell, he's starting to realize exactly what he did and what it means for him. _Too late now, buddy._

My fists clench as I start to dream of what'll happen as soon as I confront him in the arena. Clove kicks my shin. "No fighting before the arena.. I don't want to have to save you from the Capitol … again." She smirks and I grin. "If you don't recall .. I was doing plenty of saving, too." She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "_Right._"

We're dismissed and immediately our alliance huddles together. "So, what happened to you two yesterday? Thalia and I were betting on whether we'd have two new tributes," Glimmer laughs dryly. Clove smoothes out her hair in an attempt to cover the bump, and we both stay silent. "Whatever happened, you two are lucky to be alive." Glimmer continues, "That guy – District 5 - one of you knocked out-? They had to take him out on a stretcher. They tried to be discreet about it, but most of the tributes on that side of the Gym noticed. Others caught on when they saw that two of the most _fearsome_ tributes were missing. All of the Trainers looked pretty angry." Clove nods, but both of us remain wordless. No one needs to know what happened – chances are, they'll look down on us for it.

Clove breaks the awkward silence. "What's everyone doing for the private Gamemaker session?" There's a moment of tension; and no one responds. "What's the use? We're allies. After the Bloodbath, we're all going to know what your… talents are, anyway." Clove laughs grimly. I hadn't even thought about the private session – it'll be routine, for both Clove and I. Our whole lives, we've been training in front of those that demand perfection. We'll both land a 10. 10's the highest you can get – 11 and 12 are just there for show. Only a few tributes in the Games' history have received an 11, and none a 12. We'll be the highest scoring tributes in this Hunger Games.

"Fine, don't tell, but I expect an 8 and above, all of you. Anything below, and you're out." I growl. "I hadn't realized that our group had voted on a leader…," Clove says, teasingly. There's no official Career leader, of course; but every year there's always that one person, the strongest, that holds more authority than the others. I had always visualized myself as falling into that role; and I guess I did, by default. I'm the most threatening. Clove would've been the leader of her group, had she been reaped another year; so I have no problem splitting my leadership. "We can share," I smile tenderly at her, while the rest of our group watches in surprise.

Before I can think, I blurt out, "None of you can talk to me that way; so don't try it." I immediately realize what I have said; and the silence is painful. Clove breaks it, yet again. "Yes, it's not like all of you don't know that Cato and I…," She pauses. "That Cato is my…," She winces. "What she means to say, is that I'm perfect and she's head-over-heels in love with me," I fill in, grinning. Our alliance is shocked at my rare bit of humor; and my grin only grows wider with Clove's blush. "Y-Yes, I mean – well, it's our business, so don't let it affect your .. uh, performance in the Games." She goes from embarrassed to business-like in a matter of seconds. Our whole group seems some-what .. bewildered by us. Let them be.

Our group splits up, and to my surprise, Clove follows me. "A break from your knives? I'm flattered." She slaps my hand and tries to cover up her downcast look with a smile. "What's wrong?" I say gently. "I just thought.. I'd watch you, like the… old times." A tear slips down her cheek, and I catch it. I kiss the top of her head. "I'm sorry..," I say, because I don't know what else will comfort her. The 'old times' are only a few days old. What she said goes so much deeper, though – we won't be able to look back in 20 years upon our memories. We have such a short time left together – all we have is here, and now. It puts things into perspective.

I head to the spear station – like old times – and start spearing dummies. She watches me silently, her expression revealing nothing. I put less force than usual into it – slaughtering dummies viciously is hardly impressive. I stop after 20 minutes, and she applauds. "You're so talented," She says, in admiration. "You are, too," I respond instinctively. She raises her eyebrows. "Take the compliment, you should see how all the tributes look at you," She nods towards a pair watching us a few stations away, their mouths open. I pick up my spear and thrust it into a dummy, keeping my eyes on them.

Clove slams her foot into mine and stares at me sternly. "I've always admired your _immense_ level of maturity," She says, laughing. "I couldn't help myself." I say, truthfully. She grins. "Your impulsiveness.. thank you for reminding me why I love you!" She sticks her tongue out at me and I smirk. "Is it my turn to watch you?" I say. "I guess.. if you must..," She sighs dramatically and smirks back at me.

We're about to head to the knife station when the boy from District 4 comes over to us. He's a shrimp – he looks nervous, and as he walks over to us, he keeps his eyes down. "Hello," He says, his voice shaking. Clove and I exchange glances, and as she looks over his small frame, I can see her eyes soften. I doubt he can fight – he's small, and he hasn't quite reached the last stages of puberty.

"I'm Ethan." He holds his hand out, as if to shake mine, but I only stare at him. He draws it back awkwardly and continues. "I'd like to be a part of the Career alliance." … this kid, that looks as though he couldn't even hold a weapon without tipping over? Clove bites her lip, and her gentle gaze remains. She's so caring, even when we're facing a kid against us in a match to the death. She'd be an amazing mother, if – I banish those thoughts, because we're never having children together. Any children Clove has – when she gets out of the arena – I won't be the father. So I decide not to torture myself by thinking about it.

Clove smiles at the kid and taps me on the shoulder. "Er.. Ethan.. we're just going to take a second to talk about this, okay?" She pulls me away and stares at me thoughtfully. "Cato..?" I see the pity and doubt in her gaze; and I already know what she's going to say. He wouldn't be a good addition to our alliance – he's not your typical Career, and who knows what's going on inside of his head? "We can't just leave him, do you see how innocent he is? And, yes, he may turn out to be smarter than he seems, but I'm really done with seeing good kids… ready to die! If he's awful, any of us could get rid of him. I'd just like to give him a bit of hope… plus, he's from 4. Maybe he can wield a trident, or catch fish, or something." How can I turn her pleading down? I know she hates the compassion she has – and, anywhere but here, it's an amazing quality. She knows that we'll have to .. dispose of him eventually; and she accepts that. She just wants his last few days to be filled with the hope that he may survive… it's bittersweet.

"You can stop now," I tease light-heartedly. "Yes… he can be in our alliance." I say softly. She smiles, and her look of relief and happiness is enough to melt anyone's heart. She squeezes my hand as walk back to him. "Yes, you can be in our alliance." Clove says. He tries to hide the expression of victory on his face, and fails. "How old are you..?" Clove asks, ".. and what can you do?" I add, my voice commanding. "14, almost 15. Like Finnick Odair…," He says, his expression dreamy and hopeful. Finnick.. the victor that makes all the ladies swoon. He's a notorious womanizer, and he won at 14. Luck had something do with it – kids, tributes 14 and below, never win. Finnick may have been lucky, but this kid won't be. Finnick won, overall, because of his sponsors and, from what I can tell, this kid isn't getting many sponsors.

"I .. er, I can catch fish, and weave nets!" The kid says, stuttering. Everyone, with common sense, and a small bit of practice, can do that – and what use will it be when someone's attacking you in the arena? But Clove decides to be kind about it, and she smiles sweetly at him. "So, you can make traps and catch food." He nods shyly, his cheeks turning a pale red. "Well, bye! We'll see you in the arena." She says. He leans in and kisses her cheek. She pulls back in surprise, and he practically runs away, his cheeks now the color of tomatoes.

I glare at his retreating figure, resisting the urge to run after him. "Did he just-?" I say. She starts to laugh, and smiles at me, an amused expression on her face. "You're .. jealous." She says. "I don't think I've ever been jealous before, so I'm not sure.. what you mean..," I say, slowly. "Well," She bites her lip. "With Glimmer, I was so .. upset. I was worried that she would .. take you away from me, and I was angry at her for trying. I was afraid that you wouldn't want me anymore. And, as petty and juvenile as it is, you are mine. No one else is allowed to want you, according to my.. heart." Her smile turns sheepish, and I nod thoughtfully. "Yes. I didn't want him to desire you. You're…," I pause. "You're mine." I stop, and look at her, trying to build up the courage to say what I need to. I take her hand. "I hope you know.. there's no competition, with Glimmer, or anyone. It's just you, and it'll always be that way." I say. "You took the words straight out of my mouth.. no, out of my heart," She says, her voice shaky; her determined expression trying to hide the tears that threaten to overflow.

If you'd asked me a month ago; I never would've guessed that I would … fall in love. I never knew that I'd care so unconditionally and fully for someone that I'd do anything to protect them. I never knew how empty my life was without the feeling of love; and now that I've lived with it, I'll never be able to live without it. This is insane, but Clove's worth it. She's worth the sacrifice I'll make.

Even though we're where others can see is; Clove plants a quick kiss on my lips. It feels like fire, and desire pulses through me. I want it to last longer than it does – but it can't. Not here. "Always?" She says. "Always." I whisper.

oooo

The rest of training I spend watching Clove with her knives. She's flawless, and if she wasn't my.. if we weren't.. well, if the situation was different, I'd consider her my greatest opponent. After we're dismissed, we walk together back to our floor.

We have spare time before dinner, and we go to Clove's room. We stay in silence for awhile, sitting together in front of her window. The view is mainly of brightly, excessively lit buildings; and you can vaguely hear the sound of celebration, people yelling and shrieking. Celebrating the bloody deaths to come.

"Cato.. thank you, for today. Letting him join our alliance. I think Thalia will be as grateful as I am," She says. I hadn't even thought of what the rest of our alliance would think, and in the end, it doesn't really matter. The good thing about being the leader is that what I say is held to the highest importance. No one in our alliance can object to what I say and do; and as one-sided as that may be, it's easier that way. "It was nothing." I say.

We fall back into a comfortable silence, and I stare at her. Even in these ridiculous Capitol clothes, she's beautiful. Her eyes stare out the window longingly, desperate to know what the future holds. Her fingers tap the side of her seat restlessly, something she does when she's thoughtful. Her cheeks are a rosy color; and her teeth are placed firmly on her lower lip. Her eyes slide toward me, and she pauses biting her lip to smile shyly at me. I'm so glad she's mine.

She stares at me for a few seconds before pulling something out of her pocket. She holds a faded piece of paper. "I've never shown anyone this before..," She says, her eyes lowered. "It's my token, a letter from my mother." Her mother? We talked about this; only briefly. I have no idea what the letter says. She hands it to me, and I unfold it gently. The paper is worn, meaning it's obviously been read many times; and it's torn in places, indicating the same. The handwriting is scribbled, and small dots appear here and there, dots that I can only label as tear-drops. I start to read, and finish in a minute. "Clove… I.. I'm sorry." That's all I _can_ say. So, her father's dead; and her mother, well… well, the letter doesn't say much about what happened to her. As melancholy as the events are that the letter lists, I can't help but smile. This lady, whoever she is, sounds exactly like Clove; with her perfect touch of sarcasm and humor. I'm not failing her Mother. Whether she's watching from the television screen, or from … up there, she _will_ see her daughter go home to District 2. Clove's father won't be meeting her again for another … 90 years? This letter is all the more reason to get her home.

I scoop Clove up in my arms and she laughs, trying to shake me off, but making her struggle attempts weak. "You know, I bet if she saw you now, she'd be very proud," I say, sincerely; because it's true. Her eyes light up and she stops laughing. "You think so?" She breathes. "I know so." I whisper. "I wish my mother and father could see _you_. I bet they'd be pleased that they have such a great..," She pauses. "Future… son-in-law?" I say, smirking, and she grins. "Far-fetched, but it works," She teases. "Now put me down!" I take the opportunity to steal a kiss and she sticks her tongue out at me. I plop down on the couch, her still in my arms.

"Wait.. Cato?" She says, curiously. I nod, and she frowns. "What's your token?" I pause. "Well, I didn't think to bring anything." I say. Truly, it had escaped me. We had minimal possessions back in District Two; and I didn't have anything family related. No mementos. I didn't have any knick-knacks, or anything related to a fond memory. Having a token had never seemed of any importance to me; it was the last thing to come to my mind when I thought of the Games. I guess most tribute's have their family bring them something small when they're saying their last good-byes; so no one from our Training Centre has the opportunity to take a token with them to the Games.

Clove's eyes look far-away. "Clove..?" I say. She snaps out of it. "I was just thinking… Follow me," She jumps off of the couch and reaches out her hand. I grab it, and jump up, too. We leave her room, and enter the hallway. She leans down, and she takes her knife from a pocket in her jacket – though I don't know how she's managed to hold on to it for so long. We stop at a long, uniquely carved table that stands between the door to her room and the door to my room. She plunges her knife into the table, cracking the wood. "What're you doing?" I say, checking the hallway for cameras. "I'm making your token," She says calmly, "and, anyway, it's not like they'll miss a few inches of wood. I'm sure tributes have done worse," She carves a small square until it's torn from the table. "You're crazy," I smirk. I don't know what she's planning to make from it; but, in a way, I'm happy. I'll have something from her to take with me.. to the grave.

We go back to her room and she trims the edges of the wood, until it's smooth and a perfect square. "I think our escort has to collect these soon, for the Gamemakers to look over. See if they're safe," She says. I remember hearing stories of tributes stashing poison or weapons inside seemingly innocent tokens, and since early in the Games' history tributes have been required to submit their token to be checked. "Look away," She says, and I do so, listening to the faint sounds of her hacking at the wood. I stare out the window for a few seconds, resisting the urge to look, when she taps me on the shoulder. She looks triumphant, and hands the wood to me. It's shaped into a heart, and small words are carved into it: "_I love you, Cato. Wherever we are, together or apart. Forever and always._" The words barely fit, but they make it. She doesn't sign her name, so it's our secret. So the Gamemakers don't know. "Clove..?" I say, my voice faint. She clenches my hand. "Cato, listen to me." I turn my head away, and she gently turns it back. I know what she's going to say, and I'd rather not hear it. "If I die, you have to go on. _Promise me_ that this will help you." She whispers. "It will, but Clove, you're not-" She silences my words with a kiss, and neither of us need to speak to know what we're thinking.

If she dies, this token will keep me from.. going crazy. I'll be on the edge, sure; but maybe it'll keep me from tipping completely off. She _cannot_ die, but in the slim chance that something does happen.. she wants to help me. And if I die, I'll have that small part of her with me forever. Whether she remarries, or forgets me completely, we'll always be connected in that one small way. No matter what happens – I'll cherish it, until my death. Sad that the only thing guaranteed to keep us bound is this one small token. It's the only thing that'll keep us connected, forever.


	7. Chapter 7

**Clove POV**

My eyes flicker open, and I gently kick the fluffy Capitol sheets off of me. Cato is still asleep; his face peaceful. Innocent. In his deep slumber, there is no sign of anguish, or unhappiness. In sleep, all the worries of the Games are washed away; we have a few hours of carelessness and freedom. If only we could sleep forever..

I slide out of bed; and my small moment of ease is broken. Today is our third day of training, the day the private Gamemaker sessions are taking place. Today, we'll find out whom our _real_ competition is – in a way, this determines everything. Who will get the most sponsors. Who will kill; and who will be a Bloodbath tribute. Who will live, and possibly win; and who will die. I don't mean to be vain… but Cato and I will receive the highest scores. We've prepared, our whole lives, specifically for this moment, and for years, we trained in front of callous, arrogant victors and trainers who only accepted the best. As is the norm for District 2, our scores will be 10 – 11 and 12 are unattainable, and, from what I know, they're rarely given to any tribute. I've been educated on – and watched clips of – 40 different Games; and I never saw a score of 11 or 12. 10 means you are brutal. 10 means you _will_ kill. I guess that's why it's a fitting score for Cato and I.

Career tributes generally land in the 8-10 range. The rest… 1-6. Sometimes, someone from a 'lower' District will receive a decent score, a 7 or 8, but never a 9 or 10. That's Career territory.

It's hard to believe that there's only a few more days.. and then we're in the arena. And who knows what will happen there? I'd consider all the possibilities if they wouldn't overwhelm me. In a way, though the Games will determine the rest of my life; I can't wait for them to start. There, I can take things as they come – no more wondering, no more worrying. And… it's a place where I can be free. There are no restrictions. I can do whatever I want. Most consider the Games a cage, as far from freedom as you can get – but they will be my oasis. My paradise.

I walk over to the wide Capitol window, and stare outside. A pale dawn seems almost painted in the sky; ashy clouds frame the luminous sun. It seems almost unfair, such a breathtaking sight hanging over the shallow Capitol. Capitol citizens don't deserve something so beautiful; something so natural and significant compared to the frivolity they take pride in. I sigh. It's sort of odd, really – even when you're gone the sun will continue to rise and set, whether or not you're there to enjoy it. Though your life may be shattered and done, the rest of the world goes on. I'm selfish enough to care that I haven't _really_ made a mark on this world – no one will be broken when I die. No one will really care, I'll just be that girl that …. died in the Games. That cruel, vicious Career girl that didn't have a heart to stop beating in the first place.

I spin around when I feel a slight prickling on my back. Cato's ice blue eyes are glued on me, and I feel my heart flutter. "Cato," I whisper, and I break into a soft smile. He stares at me skeptically, and I plop myself down on our bed. "I was just thinking about death.. and, I felt cheated – cheated because I have no family, no one to care when I.. go. People in Panem will perceive me as someone cruel and uncaring, they'll think I deserved to.. and then I realized… I have you. I'm not alone." I've hurt him, I can tell. My words sound immature, they sound like the words of someone self-centered. I shouldn't care about all of this. "Clove, you won't di-," He starts to say, but I brush my fingers across his lips and take his hand. "But you're enough. More than enough – you're a dream come true, my dear Prince Charming. I'm honored that you.. care for me. I can't thank you enough for that." He smiles crookedly at me. "Princess Clove.. you don't act like the typical princess, but… I think I'm alright with loving you the way you are," I open my mouth into a wide 'o', and pretend to be offended, before becoming serious. "We're certainly the stereotypical Prince and Princess… if only we could have the happily ever after…,"

"If only," He murmurs, still piercing me with his searching gaze. "Clove… what are we going to do, in the arena? Should we hide… us?" His question surprises me. I hadn't even considered that it might be best for us to hide the fact that we're _slightly_ different than normal District 2 partners. "Honestly, I always thought people that choose to hold up a romance in the arena were.. pathetic, and stupid. I suppose I shouldn't have judged them," I sigh. "I could care less what Panem thinks of us – we don't need to act the way they want us to. I .. I don't want to act like you're nothing to me in the arena, Cato. I need you, and I'm not basing the time we have left on the Capitol." He laughs suddenly, an amazing sound. "I'm so glad you said that, Clove. Even if we're Careers – and we're supposed to only be focused on bloodshed.. I can definitely spare some attention for you." He winks, and I push him away, laughing.

"We have the private Gamemaker sessions today." I say. "And we have nothing to worry about – you'll be fine. They love us," He continues, a bitter edge to his voice. "I know, but, still, it's nerve-wracking." I say. "Today, tomorrow; and then we're in the arena. We also have to get through the interviews..," My voice quivers. "I know it's granted that they'll adore us… because we're…. murderers.. but, this is a lot to handle." I sigh and bury my face in my hands. "I know, Clove. I know."

We eat breakfast, where Enobaria collects our tokens; and then continue on to our third day of training. Cato and I stick together, hanging restlessly around various weapon stations. I try throwing a spear and battling with a sword, in case my knife skills don't impress the Gamemakers; but my attempts prove futile. All the difficult, endless hours I spent throwing for knives won't fail me; I'll put every ounce of effort I have into pleasing and impressing the Gamemakers. The lunch bell chimes and our whole alliance gathers at a middle table. I'm too anxious to eat, though Cato forces me to pick at my food. "Clove.. you have to," He says, tenderly. "You won't be at your best strength if you don't." I swallow a few mouthfuls of chicken, though it tastes like vile in my throat.

"What are you doing here, twerp?" Marvel suddenly says, his voice harsh. I tilt my head upwards, and there, standing at the base of our table, is Ethan. I smile at him, and after quickly looking at me, Cato begins to speak. "We have a new alliance member." I glance around our table, judging the reactions of our alliance members. Thalia has a mixture of relief and surprise on her face, Glimmer seems unaffected, and Marvel replaces his initial fury with an innocent expression. None of them say anything – they're scared to challenge Cato's authority (.. and mine; though I suppose Cato's a bit more intimidating). We're from District 2, we're the head of the alliance – they have to follow us. For that, I feel guilty. But at the same time: who's to say Cato and I don't deserve this? We're the ones that were locked up our whole lives, training for this Game. We had no freedom – and I'm sure Marvel, Glimmer and Thalia can say differently. Cato and I are the best equipped to lead; therefore we will.

I pat the seat next to me, and Ethan sits down, a shy smile on his face. I'm ashamed of myself, begging Cato to allow this boy to enter our alliance; it'll only cause hardship. How will I cope, when we must kick Ethan out of our alliance and leave him to fend for himself? Either that or… kill him? He's not a valuable addition to our alliance, he's another mouth to feed and another person to look after. He's a deadweight – we don't need him, but it's not necessarily trouble to have him. He's another set of eyes to scour the forest for tributes, and with the overflow of supplies at the Cornucopia, we can afford to support another. I want him in the alliance to spare him the worry and pain of the Bloodbath. I want him to feel security in his last days – I want to perform a good deed to make up for the countless number of sins I will no doubt commit in the coming weeks. I'll just have to accept that he will die, eventually, and make myself get over it. I can't help everyone, especially when Cato and I are at stake… hopefully, someone else will kill him so he doesn't have to die at my hand.

We sit in silence, until Cato speaks. "Remember, all of you – 8 or above." He says, his voice threatening. It shocks me, to see him act like that – I know the kind Cato. The Cato that cares. Everyone else.. they know the Cato that thirsts to slaughter tributes mercilessly. Soon, they start to call in tributes. It goes in District order – boy, then girl. Marvel goes in, and after a few minutes Glimmer is called. "Good luck," I say, and she nods, a sullen look on her face. "You're next." I smile, and squeeze Cato's hand. "Maybe you should wish me luck." He whispers. "It's not as though you need it," I say, smirking. I lean forward and kiss him, and pull away quickly. "I hope you know that that was for good luck," I say. "Oh, if only you'd wish me good luck more often." He says, grinning.

I squeeze his hand under the table, and his name is called. "Show 'em what you're made of, champ." I say. He gets up, and kisses the top of my head. "You, too – you're amazing. I'm rooting for you." He whispers. I watch him go through the wide gray doors, and turn away as he enters. Only Thalia, Ethan and I are left at the table. "Clove…," Thalia starts to say, and I nod. "He's.. terrifying. I'm not sure what you've done to him, but he acts so.. oddly around you." She finishes. "Are you sure you want to say that around me?" I say, amused; my eyebrows raised. "Oh, I'm sorry.. it's just, you've… tamed him. I wish I had someone who cared about me here." She says, her voice longing. "No, you don't. This is so hard.. I'd give anything, just for him to be safe and away from here. I love him.. as intimidating as he may be," I say. She nods, her kind eyes understanding. Ethan stares at us, perhaps trying to make sense of our exchange.

Just as I start to wonder how Cato is doing, my name is called. I take a deep breath, and confidently begin to walk towards the doors.

**Cato POV**

I push open the doors, ignoring the urge to turn and look at Clove. I swear, her smile could fuel me, enable me to win, any battle. As for her kisses… well, this is what love does.

As I enter the gym, I can feel the eyes of the Gamemakers' on me. I turn to stare at them; and their grotesque smiles sicken me. Their eyes are eager, and every ounce of their attention is devoted to me. District 2 is their favorite – we're the District that embraces death, blood, and violence. Every person in the Capitol's dream-come-true.

"You're a killer…?" One of the Gamemakers yells, their voice excited. "Yes. The Bloodbath this year will be _very_ entertaining," I say, before laughing coldly. I'm feeding their petty desires – if the Gamemakers like you, chances are, they won't pick you as a target for their… 'tricks'. If they want blood, that's what they'll get.

I go to the spear station first. I pick up a silver, dangerously sharp spear and examine it. I need to impress them; I need to do something out-of-the-ordinary. I look around the room, and find what I need: the knife station. It's halfway across the room, but… I know I can make it. I pretend to examine the spear more, when in reality, I am planning my shot. I'm aiming to get a bulls-eye at the knife target. From here.. with my spear.

I grip the spear, and only look at the target for a second before flinging the spear forward. My aim is precise, and a dull thud echoes through the room as my spear finds its target. It lands smack in the middle, much to my relief. Most of the Gamemakers gasp, in surprise; and I can tell that I have their approval. That's all I need.

I throw a few more spears, effortlessly and smoothly; the spears finding their mark perfectly. Next, I go to the sword station. I pick a blunt, heavy, blade; and begin to slaughter dummies. My swipes are carefully-planned and vicious. I've memorized the places on the human body you must strike to certainly and quickly kill; and I make sure the Gamemakers see exactly where my blade lands. Since this is what I've been doing my whole life, my technique is flawless. The dummies are clean and unmarked, apart from the gaping, jagged holes my sword caused. This is proof that I can kill easily, and effortlessly. For good measure, I swing an ax around, skewering dummy after dummy.

I can tell by the broad smiles of the Gamemakers' that my performance has been excellent. Amazing. Everything they seek in a tribute. "You may leave," One of them says, his voice admiring. "Wait," I say. None of them object. I go to the knife station, grab a slim blade, and drag a dummy towards the panel. I wait until I'm directly in front of the Gamemakers'. "Would you like to see an example of how I'll be killing tributes in the arena?" I say. "The District 5 male, especially." They laugh, and I can tell that they've heard of the incident between us. Their smiles only grow broader as I kneel down in front of the dummy.

First, I slice a thin, clean line across its neck. The wound wouldn't kill someone – but it'd certainly be painful. I make jagged cuts across its arms and legs, getting deeper as I go along. I make a neat, circular cut on the stomach of the dummy, and peel back the layer of material that would cover its internal organs, if it had any. Lastly, I shove the knife directly into where the heart would be, 5 or 6 times, lazily and slowly.

I get up, brush myself off, and grin at the Gamemakers. "I enjoy torturing people… I hope you like long, bloody deaths." I bow, and they all applaud, enthusiastically. I listen to their shouts, "Winner of the 74th Hunger Games!", and, "12!".

I walk to the elevator, ignoring the horrified stares of the Avoxes.

In truth, imaging doing that to someone.. it gives me a rush. A sick, shameful rush. I try to convince myself that I only did that because the Gamemakers called for it; but, in reality, a part of me wanted to. To practice for the future. I've always been taught that killing others is something to be proud of, and I think I've taken to the idea..

But it's not something to be proud of. A wave of shame crashes down upon me, when I imagine Clove: what would she think, if she knew..? Knew that I took pleasure in .. that? I bury my face in my hands. I'm a monster. It doesn't matter what the Gamemakers' enjoy. It doesn't matter what I've been taught. It's wrong.. but if I want sponsors, if I want to keep Clove as safe as I can, it's a façade I'll have to maintain until the very end.

**Clove POV**

I stride into the gym. I study the faces of the Gamemakers, and they seem absolutely ecstatic. Clearly, Cato hasn't failed them – he has made them _very_ happy. My relief gives me the push I need, and my confidence is regained. I know what I'm doing. Of course, I go to the knife station. The knives at the station are the exact same knives I've been training with over the last few days. I'm already familiar with them; I don't need time to get used to their feel. I smile as I realize that this is what I know. Here is where my skills lie. I'm absolutely stunning – who wouldn't be, after years of grueling practice?

I start flinging the knives, furiously, at the targets; inching further backwards as I go along. When I run out of targets, I don't even pause until I start tossing at dummies. I aim for the heart. After going through all of the knives, I stop, panting; and admire my work. A shiver of happiness runs through me: I've done well. _Very_ well. My hits were all precise. My years of work have paid off. The Gamemakers begin to applaud, whistling and cheering.

"You may leave," A Gamemaker says, and I oblige, smiling graciously at them before parting to the elevators. The Avoxes guarding the elevator stare, wide-eyed, at me, a mixture of fear and admiration in their eyes.

I go back to our floor, and I'm greeted with the icy gaze of Enobaria. "Where's Cato?" I say, surprised. "He's in your room," She says. "I hope you.. did well, Clove." Her cheery tone sounds somewhat forced, but I appreciate her attempt to be kind, anyway. I nod gratefully, and we part; she goes on the elevator and I go to my room. I enter my room, and the first thing I see is Cato. He's hunched against the bed-frame, his face buried in his hands. I immediately lower myself to the ground to be beside him. "Cato.. what happened?" I say. "Nothing." He whispers, his voice unconvincing and feeble. "Cato.. if you think that you can't trust me by now.. well, I'm offended." I say, trying to lighten our grimness. "You know I trust you, more than anyone. I'm just.. ashamed." He says. I gently pry his hands off of his face. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," I murmur.

In an effort to cheer him up, I kiss his fingertips. He smiles, hesitantly. "I'm sorry for acting irrationally," He sighs. "I demonstrated torturing technique for the Gamemakers'.. and I _enjoyed_ it. I enjoyed pretending to cruelly murder someone. I told the Gamemakers' that that's my specialty – I told them that that's how I'd treat people in the arena. I know we _must_ kill in the arena, to dwindle our competition and gain sponsors. I've always accepted that, without doubt or questioning. But.. just now, I was thinking. These kids – they have family. People that care for them. Clove, if I had to watch from home as you were killed on that screen…," He pauses, his voice pained. "I never considered the fact that I'd be a murderer.. but I'm taking innocent kids away from their families. Killing them is… ending everything. They have the same fears as we do. They're as hopeless as we are…and to know that I'm taking their lives and dreams away from them..," His voice trails off.

There's nothing I can say to comfort him. We have to kill. We're Careers .. it's a given, if we want an alliance to help us and sponsors to keep us afloat. And it's sickening, really – everything he says is true. Yes, when you kill someone, you relieve them of the pain and unhappiness of this world; but.. it's delusional to comfort ourselves with that. You can't die in peace, bloody and alone on the cold ground. These tributes are forced into the Games, against their will; they don't want to die. To act as though we're doing them a favor… is ridiculous. We're murderers.

"I'm so sorry, Cato. I wish it wasn't like this," My words are simple, but he understands what I mean. I wish we weren't in the Hunger Games. I wish we didn't live in Panem. I wish the Hunger Games didn't exist – and I could go on, and on. "Well.. we should at least give ourselves some credit," I say, a small smile on my face. "We're a bit better than your average Career tribute; slaughtering every tribute in sight with a smirk on their face," Cato raises his eyebrows. "But, that's what we do…," He says, his voice amused. "Yes, yes.. but without the smirk." I say, and wink at him. "And without the overwhelming, obnoxious arrogance. A key trait of most Careers – take Marvel, for instance." I continue. He snickers, and the brightness returns to his eyes.

We help each other up. "Cato.. there's nothing we can do. As hard as it is, we have to accept that killing is the only way through the arena for us. Hate the Capitol – not yourself. They're the ones responsible for the Games' and everything that comes along with them. Not that we don't control our actions.. but, without the Capitol, we wouldn't be in the arena in the first place." I hug him, and lean my head against his chest – he's at least a head taller than me. "I don't know how I'd manage here without you." He whispers. "Lean down?" I say, playfully. "Actually…," I put my hands on his shoulders, hoist myself up and wrap my legs around his waist. "You're too…," He starts to say, laughing. "Lovely? Magnificent? Either is fine," I say, innocently. He starts to respond, and I muffle his words by pushing my lips against his. I jump down after a few seconds, my legs aching. "You know.. maybe I should pick you up, next time." He says, grinning. "Next time..? And, anyway, I was just trying to be romantic.. something, apparently, you aren't..," I say, smirking. He grins at me. "Wha-?" I start to say, until the breath is knocked out of me. He lifts me up, into his arms. "Cato!" I choke out, my cheeks burning and my heart pounding. "Just trying to be _romantic_, my love," He laughs. "Cato! Put.. me.. down!" I shriek. "What if I don't want to?" He says, coyly. I roll my eyes. "What would convince you?" He stares at me, blinking slowly. "Well, a few compliments wouldn't hurt..," He grins. "Oh, dear, sweet Cato – you are just _so_ gorgeous. I mean, that body – those muscles – all the girls _swoon_ for you. Baby, you're _so_ sexy." I exaggerate my words and hold my heart dramatically. "Oh, these muscles..? I can tell, by your cheeks, that you've noticed them." He grins at me. "_Cato_!" I hide my scarlet face in my palms. "Now, put me down – you've proved your romanticism, Romeo."

He collapses on our bed, me still trapped in his arms. "I think my beautiful display of romance deserves a kiss, don't you?" He smiles, charmingly, pleadingly. "If you weren't such a charmer, and if those muscles weren't oh-so-big…," I whisper. I lean down on top of him, and lock our lips. The kiss lasts a few minutes, making the butterflies in my stomach go wild. I pull away first, my cheeks burning, and he smiles tenderly at me. "I'm sorry.. I'm not a natural, at.. this," I say, apologetically. "You're perfect to me." He mutters.

We curl up together, and I wrap my arms around him. I tilt my head on his shoulder, and before I know it, I'm drifting off. Though I try to fight it, nothing eases the weight on my eyelids. Soon, I cannot battle sleep any longer..

"Clove, wake up," A soft voice says. I grumble and grudgingly open my eyes. Cato stares down at me. "It's dinner-time soon, and after that, our scores are announced." He says. "I'm sorry for falling asleep on you," I groan – my mind is fuzzy, my limbs shaky and numb. "Brutus and Enobaria were very suspicious when I came out alone; I think it's best if they're reassured that you're still alive." He smirks, and takes my hand, pulling me out of bed. "How'd you sleep?" He asks. "Oh, I'm about as tired as I was when I closed my eyes." I yawn.

Dinner is filled with ridiculously intricate, colorful, dishes. I eat a few spoonfuls of soup and sample a few other dishes; but they unsettle my stomach. "So.. how were the sessions?" Enobaria asks casually, while we all chew our food. "I think I did fairly well, considering I've devoted my whole life to throwing knives," I say, dryly. "Don't mind her, Enobaria, she's just cranky. Lack of sleep, you know." He winks at Brutus while Enobaria turns her head in disgust. Our escort stares at us sternly, and my cheeks start to glow. "Cato…!" I hiss, and stomp on his foot. "It's not as though we don't know," Brutus says, his voice deep and scratchy. "Yes, we're more than district partners." I say, flushed. "Don't you realize, how hard it'll be in the arena?" Enobaria asks, curiously. "Trust me. I may be a Career, but I'm not incapable of caring. I'd give up _everything _for her." Cato says this with such intensity that both Brutus and Enobaria gape at him. "Well.. I think it must be about time for the scores," Brutus says, his voice uncomfortable. We all go towards the array of couches in front of a screen that is already on. I sit next to Cato, my hand brushing his. I'm restless, my eyes glued to the screen; waiting for the moment when my name will appear. Marvel gets an 8, as does Glimmer; to which Cato and I exchange a glance and nod. They've passed.

Now, for us. Cato's name flashes on the screen, along with the number ten. "Cato! A ten!" I squeeze his hand and he smiles, proud. Next, my picture flashes on the screen. Below my name lies a perfect 10. "Good job, baby." Cato says, softly. We've done it – _10_. It's an amazing score, a score that'll get us sponsors and admiration. "I can't believe it.. I'm so relieved." I say. I bury my face in his chest. "I got a ten, myself. As did 'ol Enny over here." Brutus booms. Enobaria cracks a smile. "And look at us – _winners_. I've already mentored 7 or 8 victors. It'd be nice to have another under my wing." He continues. Cato stares at him coldly, and I lift my head slightly. "You must be so proud." Cato says, bitingly. Brutus opens his mouth to respond, and closes it, his words hanging in the air.

District 4 comes onto the screen. Thalia gets an 8. Ethan gets a … 5. Cato's gaze hardens. "Too late to kick him out now." He says, reassuringly. "Please – don't remind me how incredibly _dumb_ I am." I say. A small smile is coaxed to his lips. "You're so incredibly _caring_.. be proud. It's one of the reasons I…," He starts to say, before being cut off by a scathing look from Enobaria. We turn our attention back to the screen. Tributes in Districts 5-10 do … unremarkably. I'd like to pity them, but, truly, I'm relieved. This means – most likely – that they're not competition. Nothing to be worried about.

District 11 is surprising: the small girl gets a 7, while Thresh gets an 8. Thresh is something to be worried about.. and, now, the girl, Rue, is someone to look out for. Of course, she's tiny and seems initially harmless; but now's not the time to take anything lightly. _District 12_. I tap my fingers against my thigh nervously. Peeta scores an 8. I mentally add him to my list of possible opponents – an 8 is probably the best score District 12 has come up with in years. Katniss Everdeen's name pops up, and below her name is a bright, shiny… 11.

11. I dig my nails into my leg, drawing blood. I gasp. _Eleven_..? This.. this.. can't be happening. She's from District 12. The Bloodbath district. She scored higher than Cato and I! _Cato and I_! I'm pretty damn sure that she wasn't cooped up in a training facility her whole life… yet.. an eleven. A number that hasn't been scored in years. I'm not envious of her score, and I don't care what her ability may be – I care about sponsors. First, she volunteered for her sister. Then, she happened to make a splash at the Chariots. And, now, _this_. She's taking precious attention and devotion away from Cato and I. Something that may grant us the power to survive.

I glance around the room. Enobaria and Brutus' eyes are both wide, their mouths open in shock. I slide my eyes to Cato. His face is twisted into an expression of fury. His eyes are truly murderous. "Cato..?" I say, timidly. Suddenly, the glass of water he's holding explodes into a million pieces, showering glass over him and I. He kicks the elegant table in front of us, creating a splitting hole in the wood and making a sickening crack. "That _bitch_!" He yells, followed by a string of expletives. He kicks what's left of the table, launching it across the room. "Control him!" Enobaria shrieks, her eyes wary. Brutus puts his arms on Cato's shoulders, but Cato pushes him off, easily. I approach him slowly. "Cato… remember, in a few days, you can stick a sword in her heart. Both of us, together, are stronger than she is. We can kill her. I'd enjoy it, very much," I whisper. My words are ugly – but my top priority is calming him down. He seems to cool down a bit, and he tilts his head towards me. "So.. I can torture her without feeling like a monster?" I can't hide my wince, but I cover it with a smirk. "Cato, she volunteered, for a child; her sister, at that. I think it'd be a tad too inhumane to make her death slow." I say. He frowns. "If it wasn't for the kid…," He growls. His eyes fall and he avoids my gaze. "I hate when you see this side of me," He says. "We all have our bad and good moments," I say. "Cato, I love you.. whether you kill, or torture.. we're in the Games. I think it's reasonable to look past things like that when you're forced into a death match." I take his hand, kiss his palm and hold it over my heart. "See?"

Brutus snorts in disbelief, watching us. "I'll _never_ understand.. how people can act so strangely," He strolls out of the room, and Enobaria follows him, rolling her eyes. "Let's get out of here," I murmur. "What?" He says, his voice confused, his eyes searching. "Well.. there's a roof here, isn't there?" I say. I don't know if we'll get in trouble for leaving – I don't know if we can even get on the roof – but it's worth a shot. It's suffocating, being stuck in this strange, glamorous building all the time. Air would be nice – rather than the thick, perfumed scent that always seems to linger around here. And.. it'd be lovely to see the stars, the very same stars that I looked at back in District 2. Something comforting. "Go.. go.. go!" I whisper, and Cato and I rush towards the elevator. The doors open immediately, and we jump inside; having avoided being noticed by Brutus or Enobaria. I slam my hand into the '12' button, the last floor. "We're just going to barge in there?" Cato says, his eyebrows raised. ".. well, I hadn't thought of that." I say, sheepishly. The elevator is at the twelfth floor in seconds – the doors ding and I take Cato's hand, pulling him out. I scan the hallway, and much to our luck, it's empty, all the room doors closed. I wonder where Katniss Everdeen is on this floor – and I'm curious as to how she feels. Being one of the very few to earn an 11.

"The entrance!" I say, pointing to a steel, gray door with a small window cut in it. I can make out a set of stairs through the window. We creep quietly through the hall, trying desperately not to make a sound in the few feet we have to walk. Our luck fades quickly – the creak of a door sounds, and a second later, a man is standing before us. I think his name is Haymitch – a victor, a mentor. He's unkempt, and reeks of alcohol. "We're just trying to get to the roof," I say. Cato tenses, and stands protectively beside me. Haymitch studies us, our closeness; and as he sees our entwined hands I see a flash of sadness strike his eyes. "It.. never ends well," He slurs, studying us once more, anger and grief in his words. He turns around and goes back into his room, slamming the door behind him.

The door to the roof is unlocked, and there's nothing suggesting we shouldn't be there; the stairs are few and climbable.

The first thing I do when I reach the top is stare at the stars. They shine, bright and unwavering, on the dark canvas of the night sky. This beats all of the artificial light surrounding us, gleaming from the tall buildings of the Capitol. "Clove?" Cato says, gently; snapping me out of my trance. I force my eyes from the stars, and, for the first time, look around the roof. The floor is tiled, and potted plants are dotted around. A few chairs are stacked in the corner. We share a loveseat and I stretch my legs across his lap. We're faced towards the mountains. The stars frame the tall, jagged rock beautifully.

"How do you think Katniss got that score, Cato?" It's a sensitive subject, for both of us – but I'm bursting with curiosity. If what Cato and I can do only warrants a 10, what can possibly warrant an 11? "Knives?" He murmurs. "No." I answer, without even considering what he has said. I don't deny it because it's not a possibility – because it is. I deny it because even _imagining_ that someone, especially from 12, is better than I am at throwing knives when I've been training my whole life is unbelievable, unbearable and painful. "I don't remember seeing her at any weapon stations during training." I say, and he nods, agreeing with me. A mix of anger and jealousy surges through me – so, she hid her talent…? I'd respect her, if it weren't for my anger at her score. I trained, always striving for the best. Always forced to be the best. I imagined that I would soak in the glory of my high score when my time came to be a tribute. But, now, Katniss has completely overshadowed Cato and I. She is dampening everything I've waited my whole life for. For that, I despise her. It really hurts when someone beats you at your own game.

"Sword?" I say. "No," He says. "She doesn't seem or look strong enough to swing a sword around." I picture Katniss in my head. She seems healthy, but not overly built. I scan my brain for weapons, and list them off. "Spear? Ax? Bow and arrow?" I say. It's incredibly frustrating to not know what your greatest competitor's strong point is. You only earn an eleven if you are magnificently talented – and I'm at unease, not knowing what threatens Cato and I. "Let's stop this. It's no use worrying over what she can do before we're in the arena. We'll look out for her in the Bloodbath, and take it from there. Neither of us need another weight on our backs," I say, and push Katniss out of my mind – Cato and I can defend ourselves. Let her try to overcome us.

Realizing that we're truly not invincible, realizing that the arena may not be such a breeze ane that we have others to worry about are heavy weights to carry. I lean against Cato, and we remain silent, watching the stars. I can only cope for a few minutes before I start crying. My tears are pathetic and I try desperately to stop them – but I'm just too exhausted. Not physically. Mentally.

"I'm so scared... I love you. I love you more than anything.. Cato, one of us is going to die." In his arms, it all spills out.. everything. "Clove.. I'm scared too." My hold only grows stronger around his shoulders. "Clove.. as.. odd as it sounds, you've taught me that I'm capable of feeling. If I was doubtful of the existence of my heart before…. Now I know I have one, because you've broken it," He smiles sadly at me. "I could live a thousand years, and never find someone like you. If I lived.. the wounds would never heal. Even if I did find someone _exactly_ like you, the pain would still be too fresh. If I lost you.. the pain would blind me. Clove, we're two halves of one whole," I slam my fist into the floor, bloodying my knuckles. "We're not getting out of this, are we? I think I've been in denial – I thought maybe we'd have our happy ending, somehow.. but this is a death sentence. We.. don't.. have.. a.. future. Cato. If.. if we're the last two…," I choke out. He studies my tear-streaked face, and I shamefully wipe off the wetness with my fingers. "I'd give up everything for you, in a heartbeat." He whispers, and wipes the rest of my tears away. I press his face against mine, and then collapse, sobbing into his shoulder. I need to be strong.. I should be… but I'm shattered. Broken. "Cato.. don't you understand?" My voice a tad more steady. "If I won.. if I left without you.. can you imagine me? Alone in District 2 – for the rest of my life. I have no family. I have no friends. I only have you; if I left alone I'd always be in that arena. I'd always be detached. Watching the Games. Mentoring. Pretending to be absolutely joyful, having to be obedient to _the Capitol_.. I'd be dead inside. I wouldn't be living.. I'd be existing. Existing miserably, with no escape." I clench his hand. "I know you want me to live – to see District 2 again, to see the ocean, to have children. But without you.. it's nothing. I'm so sorry.. I'm not strong enough. Even time can't heal wounds of this degree." I say. He grits his teeth. "I guess I thought that you'd be fine.. but if you feel the same way I feel about you.. it's selfish of me to think that you'll be able to live again." He says. I lean my head against his shoulder. "Cato.. how do we know this isn't.. puppy love?" I say, smiling weakly. My question is merely a joke, of course.. when you're at the point where you'd sacrifice everything for someone, they're more than your crush. "When I met you, Clove, there was something about you. Immediately.. an attraction, if you must. But it was more than that.. I needed to be near you. And, then, we were reaped together. I actually got to know you – and, honestly, you know what I'm like. I don't care… I have no compassion for others. I never have.. but.. you. It was like.. something in me was fulfilled. I can't explain it.. but you know everything I'm thinking. You share my thoughts.. I can actually talk to you; and tell you everything I'm feeling.. me? Telling anyone else that I actually have fears-? Though I've never felt anything for anyone else.. I knew soon after I met you.. that I loved you. As inconvenient as this is.. as much as I tried to fight it.. I couldn't. I'd do anything for you. If this isn't love.. what is?" My heart melts, and a shiver runs down my spine. "I love you." He whispers, running his fingers down my back. "I love you, too." I murmur, and stroke my hand gently across his cheek. He holds it there, and he kisses my finger-tips gently. We stare at the dark, night sky and the bright stars for a while, silent.

"So, Cato, what happens in the arena..?" I'm not just speaking simply, I'm talking about.. death. He senses my undertone, and he winces. Without waiting for a response, I start to speak. "We already know we can, and will, survive. So that's what we must do. We can't just give up – especially after spending our whole lives training. That wasn't for nothing..," My voice trails off, and he picks up where I left off. He smiles crookedly at me. "I'd rather not.. discuss this here. We're supposed to take it as it comes. Whatever happens – whatever our destiny is.. we'll always be together. Do you promise to always remember that?" He laces our fingers together and squeezes. "I promise."

If Cato died, somehow, and I was left alone in the arena; I'm not sure what I'd do. I don't know if I could even cope.. I mean, watching previous Games, I've seen people go mad over just the death of a District partner. I think I'd go insane, too – not in your normal sense of insane; insane with grief and the overwhelming need to join him. And join him, I will – after losing him, the best I'll be able to do is collapse in the dirt and refuse to fight anymore. That is, of course, if I don't die from pure sadness, exhaustion, and hurt, first. I'm almost done with this world – this world filled with people who find the Hunger Games enjoyable and acceptable, a world where some starve while others live in massive luxury. Cato dying… will tear me apart. I don't know what awaits us, I don't know what our fate is. All I can hope is that there is peace for us at the end of this awful, painful journey.

"Do you think there's an afterlife, Cato?" I whisper, staring at the stars. "Clove.. if I can't spend the rest of eternity in this life with you, I sure as hell am spending it with you in the next. Fate.. God.. whatever's out there; hopefully they can spare us some mercy. After all, we're being sent into an arena to fight to the death..," He murmurs, into my ear. "I wonder how we're going to die." I say. It's _absolutely_ terrifying to be in a situation like this – to know that you may (.. very likely) die soon, and you are powerless against your fate. The possibilities are endless.. I hope there is somewhere where Cato and I can be free, together, forever. If our lives are sacrificed in these bloody, cruel Games, we deserve it.

"Clove, if I die knowing that we're one step closer to being together forever, then I can die fulfilled and happy." He smiles lightly at me. "Cato.. what did I do to deserve you? I thought I'd be alone forever.. and then," I say, breathlessly. "Clove.. I ask myself the same question, every few seconds." His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Such a charmer," I say, smirking. "There's the Clove I love.. though I wasn't exaggerating by much," He says, smiling timidly.

"We should probably go back down… we'll get in trouble for being up here this late," He says, sighing. He helps me up, and we walk back to the elevator. It takes us swiftly down to the 2nd floor. We're in luck, our mentors and escort have already gone to bed, and we sneak back to my room unnoticed. "… are you sure you don't want me to go to my room?" He says, teasingly. "Why, I think I can afford allowing you to sleep here.. just for tonight." He smiles his heart-stopping smile; and I tighten my grip on his hand. We sit in silence on my bed for a few moments, and he wraps his arms around me. "I swear.. if I had met you, anywhere else, at any other time, we'd be married by now." He murmurs. "We're a bit young…," I say, smiling slightly. "When has love ever cared…?" He says, a twinge of sadness lacing his tone.

We lay down and our hands never part. He kisses me on the forehead before closing his eyes. I keep mine open, and stare at him, his peaceful face. "Cato…?" I say, and brush my hand across his cheek gently. He opens his eyes, immediately alert. "… yes, beautiful?" He says, his eyebrows raised. I roll my eyes. "Beautiful?" I say, teasingly. "Oh, why-? Do you prefer… baby, or … owner of my heart or… gorgeous?" He says, smirking. "Clove will do, Mr. Handsome Prince Charming." I snicker. "So… what is it you wanted to talk to me about?" His eyes stare at me searchingly. I turn away, my face burning, my heart beating. Then I turn back, my confidence regained. "Cato… I love you. I want to…," My voice trails off, and I lean forward and kiss him, the kiss lingering and long. "I'm ready." I whisper, my lips brushing against his ear. His eyes widen as he realizes what I mean. "Are you sure…? Clove..," His voice is surprised, unsteady. "Cato, we only have so much longer until we're locked in that arena. We have almost no time left to _live _– and we should take advantage of the time we do have. I want to," I murmur. I doubt anything could strengthen the bond we already have – and I love him, and if we weren't _here_, we'd have more time to be together. We'd have time to actually be together, pace our relationship, and in the end, get married and grow old together. But we are here – and we have so little time left together, so little time left to experience everything all lovers do, so it's necessary that we act here. And now. I love him.. and I know that there will never be anyone besides him.

I start to kiss him, gently before becoming forceful. He kisses back, his hesitancy eased. Soon, we are locked in a world where only we exist; a world free of the Hunger Games, death, and fear. It's only us, and everything we feel for each other.

**(I'm sorry if the bit above offends anyone, or if it's awkward. (x It felt like the right point in this story for it to happen. I tried my best not to go into details. Thank you if you're reading – Summer just started, so I can finally update frequently. 33 Cheers!)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Cato POV**

Today are the interviews. And tomorrow are the Games.

Yesterday, Clove and I trained for the interviews with Brutus and Enobaria. We trained together. The first four hours, with Enobaria, were bearable. Enobaria clearly wasn't a fan of the job – for the bulk of the time, all we did was practice smirks, sappy smiles and taunting laughs. Clove had to strut around in heels, but, because Enobaria clearly isn't one for fashion herself, she was allowed to stop after a few minutes. The next few hours – with Brutus – were.. interesting. We worked on our angles for the interviews. We aren't allowed to choose how we act – we're given a personality and expected to work with it. District 2 males are murderous, strong, blockheads. District 2 females – depending on their appearance & training score – are either like the males or … sexy. It's this same cycle, every year; we're not supposed to be original. We're just supposed to impress our potential sponsors with our apathy and callousness. Brutus tried to claim that, with our scores of 10, that it's granted that our interviews will be smooth. We're already in the center of attention, and so far, our sponsor numbers look decent. His reassurance would soothe me – and I'd be 100% confident – if it weren't for that girl from District 12. The one with the 11.

District 12 tributes always die in the Bloodbath. _Always_. They're weak, poor, underfed, and untrained. District 12 is the poorest district, the majority of its citizens poverty-struck, so it's a given that the tributes are incompetent. The district has 1, maybe 2 victors to brag of. But, yet, this girl managed to get an 11. District 12 is unremarkable and forgettable. Something I was counting on the tributes this year to be.

11 is a score only a handful of tributes have been given since the start of the Games. So, rather than paying attention to _us _– Panem is buzzing about the girl that defied everything her District stands for. She volunteered in a place where being reaped means certain death. She got an 11, when if you're from 12, you're lucky to manage a 3. She's a gem in the coal of her district. She doesn't look like much – so how she could beat the two people that have been training constantly for years is beyond me. I know I can kill her, and I will, no matter what she did to get that 11. Hopefully I can get her before she becomes too well equipped, before her mentors put those sponsor points to use. Every point she loses, Clove and I will gain. It may be hard to keep my promise to Clove – to kill the girl quickly – but as long as I'm getting rid of her, I'll be happy.

I know I'm being unreasonable, worrying about someone that, physically, isn't much competition towards me. I had always assumed that I'd be on top, that I'd be the tribute that everyone counted on to win and automatically sponsored. But now… I have an obstacle. An obstacle I never prepared for.

"Anguished?" A voice whispers into my ear. I jump, and spin around. "Clove." I murmur. "I didn't mean to scare you." She says, apologetic. "You look beautiful," I say, without thinking. She raises her eyebrows. "Disheveled hair.. dark circles.. gaunt cheeks.. I _am_ a stunner," She says, smirking. "I'm not lying," I say. "Well.. you do know how to flatter a girl," She says softly, her smirk changing to a smile. "You're worrying about District 12, aren't you?" She says. "You know me too well." I murmur, sighing. "We have more immediate worries at the moment – y'know… thousands of people will be judging us today." She says, frowning. "Do me a favor?" I say, studying her. She looks at me curiously, and nods. "Practice with me? It'll take a lot of self control not to run my mouth off today. I mean, us making our impression on the whole Capitol population – it'll be tempting to call them twits.. if not worse," I say. "_Please _– don't give me ideas," She says, her eyes twinkling. "But, yes.. I'll help you.. if you help me. Three minutes of gushing, and it's over."

"So.. you have to act like a killer during the interviews," She says. I nod. "I'll brag about my insane killing skills, go on about how excited I am to be in the Games and how my kill list will be the longest." I say. My interview angle may get people in the Capitol to love me – but it'll get people in the Districts to hate me (apart from my own, maybe). ".. and, your interview angle?" I tease. Brutus tried to force Clove to go with the sexy angle – she may be skilled and trained, but she doesn't have the brutish look that most District 2 girls flaunt. After hours of arguing with him and refusing him, they eventually reached a compromise. She'll be a mix of innocence, sweetness, sarcasm, venom & deadliness. It's certainly not a dull combination. "I'm glad you didn't go with the sexy angle," I murmur. Imagining men in the Capitol fawning over her makes me sick… and envious. "Oh, my – if I attempted to be 'sexy', I'd make a complete and utter fool of myself. We can leave that to the District 1 girls," She says, rolling her eyes. "You're every girl in the Capitol's dream date – a fierce killer with plenty of muscles." She continues. She tries to be sarcastic, but her face is downcast. "They're nothing compared to you." I murmur.

Her cheeks immediately start to redden and as I stare into her eyes, I know that I love her with everything I have. This is the kind of love that lasts. I don't think I can be truly and wholly happy without her.. I can't see myself living without her.

Our moment of peace is broken when our door is thrown open. Our prep teams burst in, cooing cheerfully. "Time to get ready for your interviews!" They cry, their voices odd and high-pitched. "So much for practicing," Clove says. "Good luck… I'll see you later," She squeezes my hand and kisses my cheek, following her prep team without complaint. She spins around and blows me a kiss before leaving the room. "I can't wait to tell my friends – they'll _love_ this – District 2 lovebirds! The Games this year will be _so_ exciting!" One of them shrieks, and they all cheer. I don't protest – not because I'm not disgusted by them, but, because, in a day, my personal life will be broadcasted to all of Panem. I have better things to worry about than what the Capitol thinks. I rise and follow my prep team out the door, ripping my arm away when one of them tries to grab it.

They start working on me, and though it's incredibly tempting to turn violent and uncooperative, I resist and resort to cursing every few minutes. The only article of clothing I'm allowed is a small piece of cloth wrapped around my waist. My hair is cut, rinsed and spiked to perfection. My skin is scrubbed countless times; and after it's shiny and sleek, numerous powders and foundations are dabbed on. Though I'm a male – they spend an hour applying make-up to my face. I suppose they try to make it appear 'subtle' – but subtle by Capitol standards and subtle by District standards are two very different things. Gloss is rubbed on my lips, silver lines my eyes, and pounds of stuff is applied to make my features more pronounced. They glue iridescent gems to my knuckles, finger-nails and face. They use a small paint brush to paint a sword and spear on each of my cheeks, and a swirl design is carefully stenciled on my forehead. More swirl designs are detailed on my fingers, and a "10" and "2", representing my score and District, are stamped on the backs of my hands. As they're perfecting the 10 and 2, one of them starts to gush. "A _10 _– I'm so proud! I'm working on the highest scoring District." As though I'm not already aggravated enough with these vile excuses for human beings, one of them chirps back: "Oh, no, you're wrong! The _second_ highest scoring District. If only they were the highest this year.. I can't brag to my friends!" I nearly wrap my hands around their throat at the petty whining – _everyone_ has taken notice of the 12 girl's score. People in the Capitol are more impressed by her than by Clove and I. Great.

They forcibly try to shove vivid gray contacts in my eyes. I refuse, and they have the good sense not to push me. As a finishing touch, silver is sprayed onto my skin from a can. I'm about to rise from my chair, my legs aching from lack of use, when they push me back down. Before I can even react, a syringe is shoved into my arm. Enraged, I'm about to yell at them when one of them speaks, their voice quivering. "It's to prevent the growth of body hair – on your face, your arms, your legs. It's not our decision." So, yet again, the Capitol shows how self-obsessed they really are – they can't have their male tributes looking ragged and uncivilized.

They're finally done, and I let out a sigh of relief. If it's been this agonizing for me, it's been ten times worse for Clove. My prep team files out of the room and in comes my stylist, brandishing the clothing I'm to wear for the interview. I'm forced to take off the cloth, and they size up my body before helping me into the suit they have brought. The fabric is heavy and hard. I glance down at my body – the suit's fabric is metallic and silver to match the rest of me. Gems cover most of the suit, only making room for a sword design on my left thigh and a '10' on my right thigh. I'm allowed to leave – I avoid all the mirrors plastered around the room, ashamed of how ridiculous I know I look. My stylist trails me, and we walk to the elevator. Clove and her stylist are already waiting. I avoid meeting Clove's eye. Clove moves to stand next to me and taps my hand lightly. "I see I'm not the only one that declined the contacts," She murmurs. "I look absurd, don't I?" I whisper. "You look dashing. Over-the-top, maybe; but beautiful all the same." I get a good look at her for the first time, and I gasp. Her lips are a striking red, and have tiny silver decals attached. Her skin is silver and she's covered in make-up. Designs and paintings like mine line her body. A slim coating of gems covers her chest –it's a pitiful excuse for a top, exposing her stomach and lower back. Her skirt is modest compared to her top, stretching down to her knees; though there's a slit up the thigh. Gems line its edge. Her heels are constructed completely of diamonds, and they must be at least 6 inches. An elegantly detailed 10 is drawn on her bare stomach. Her hair is up, highlighted with silver. "… wow." Is all I can manage. "Please, do not remind me how ludicrous and tasteless I look. These damn heels don't even make me as tall as you!" She growls, glaring daggers at her stylist. "Well.. we're a pair, that's for sure." I say. We're allowed to board the elevator when Brutus and Enobaria arrive. I can tell, as they look at us, that they're holding in snickers.

Clove clutches my hand. "In a minute, we'll be on stage," She murmurs, her voice shaking. "I'll be right next to you the whole time, except during your interview. But I'll be listening – don't worry, I'm rooting for you." I say. She plants a kiss on my lips and our stylists scream, tearing us apart. I don't care if I've ruined my make up – if anything, it'll make me look more like a human and less like an…. odd, shiny alien. The elevators open and we're led onto stage. Clove and I are seated next to each other. Clove will be interviewed before me. Luckily, we'll be the third and fourth to go – the audience will still be perky and excited for our interviews. They must get bored, come the 15th or 16th tribute. The crowd is massive – I can hear people shrieking my name. I spot a few signs that have Clove's picture – and my picture – on them. There must be a few dozen camera crews filming all of us. The Gamemakers are watching. The President is watching. It makes me a bit queasy – in a bit, everyone's attention will be focused on me. Everyone in Panem will be watching as I'm pelted with questions. _Remember, you're a killer, Cato. A blood-thirsty killer._

Clove shoots me a nervous look and I smile reassuringly at her. _"I'm nervous,"_ She mouths. _"I'm here,"_ I mouth, and I press my foot against hers. I think it'd be a tad too scandalous to hold her hand with loads of people filming us. Caesar Flickerman bounds up on the stage, and it's a sign that the interviews will soon start. Caesar is the interviewer, and he has been, for a few decades. Trainers back home refer to him as an imbecile, and now I can see why. His appearance is childish and unrealistic. His hair and suit color changes every year; and he's always sheathed in layers of make-up. This year, he's gone blue. His hair and suit are a blinding sapphire. He hasn't aged a bit since he started as an interviewer –yet another one of the Capitol's wonders. He fools around with the audience for a few brief moments – and then the interviews finally start. Glimmer's first.

She's wearing a golden, see-through gown. Clearly, her stylist decided her interview should be aimed towards the men of the Capitol. I hardly listen to her interview – she tries to ooze sex appeal and ferocity at the same time. I don't think her interview matters. Any Capitol citizens that decide to sponsor her.. well, I'm sure what she _says_ is the last thing on their mind.

Marvel comes next. He tries to act murderous and savage, but he comes off as dull. I'm sure his promise to kill is enough for potential sponsors to support him, however. Halfway through his interview, Clove kicks me. Her eyes are wide and terrified, and her hands are shaking. _"You can do it.. you're amazing. They'll love you," _I mouth. She smiles and she seems to regain some confidence – her shoulders and back grow straighter, and she smirks towards the cameras. Marvel's buzzer rings and he heads back towards his seat. Clove rises. _"Go get 'em,"_ I mouth, and she nods. She walks toward Caesar, poised; and never once stumbles in those idiotic heels. She sits down and her image is soon broadcasted on the large screen above us. She glances back towards me once, and I nod, shooting her a thumbs-up.

"How do you like the Capitol, Clove?" Caesar asks. She doesn't hesitate before answering. "The Capitol is gorgeous. The architecture and decorating is just superbly beautiful. And, the people – I don't think I've ever seen such beauty before! Everyone here is so pretty, unique and lovely." Her words are dripping with fake sweetness and sarcasm. "What's your favorite thing here?" He asks, returning her sugary smile. "Oh, honestly?" She coos. "The big, fluffy beds. They're such a beautiful display of craftsmanship – and so comfortable! Such luxury compared to what I'm used to back in District 2. And the food… magnificent." The crowd is yelling wildly – she's not disappointing them. "What was life like, back in District 2?" Caesar says. "Oh, if you must know – I trained at an academy in District 2. I've trained my whole life with weapons.. if I hadn't been reaped this year, I would've volunteered at a later point, for sure. I'm very skilled at killing.. how else do you think I got that 10?" She gushes, and points to the number painted on her stomach. She's _nailing_ it – she's everything the Capitol wants. Sweet. Beautiful. _Deadly_. And, she's a rebel – technically, we aren't supposed to train, but to make the Games entertaining, it's a rule that's normally ignored. She didn't out-right say she trained for the Games, specifically. But her implication is enough. "So, you're excited for the Games?" He asks. "_Very. _In fact…," She stands up and shouts toward the crowd, "How would you like to have a District 2 tribute be the victor of the 74th Hunger Games?" The crowd cheers and shrieks wildly, screaming 'Yes, Please!" and her name enthusiastically. "So, you think you'll win?" Caesar says. "I _know_ I will. Just ask the Gamemakers.. I'm sure they're very confident of my ability." She smirks and points toward the balcony, where the Gamemakers hold up their drinks, grinning. They banter a bit more about the Capitol and the Games – Clove glowing with sarcasm and charm. Her buzzer rings and she gets up, as do I. We pass each other and she smiles at me. Her success has given me confidence – I'm not the slightest bit nervous.

I sit down and Caesar smiles at me. "Are you excited to be in the Games, Cato?" He's skipping the Capitol fluff he highlighted with Clove. I'm one of the oldest tributes, I'm from District 2, and I got a ten. What I do in the arena is of best interest to the audience. "I volunteered, didn't I?" I say, a bitter edge to my voice. I smooth it over by winking at the crowd. They laugh and clap. "Why did you volunteer?" He asks. The real answer to that question? Freedom from the hell of training. Honor. I was forced to, really – the trainers made sure to ingrain entering the Games into our brains from the minute we started. I've trained for the Games my whole life – they've been what my world has revolved around. "I'm _very_ skilled," I say. "It seemed logical to enter the Games – talent of my degree should not be wasted." I try my best to sound cold and brutal. "10. Amazing score. Would you like to enlighten us as to your strategy in the Games?" He says. I laugh sharply and icily. "Come tomorrow, all of Panem will see why I received a 10. I take pride in knowing that the list of kills below my name will be the longest," My words are a threat, a promise. We go back and forth for a bit more – he asks me questions about the Games, I fit my thirst to murder every tribute and win into each answer. I list various methods of murder, including those involving nothing more than my bare hands. The crowd is eating it up – and though I know it's despicable to act like this, if it's getting sponsors, this is my only choice.

Near the end of the interview, the direction of Caesar's questions drastically change. "So, Cato, strong young man like yourself. Do you have a girl back home?" This question catches me off-guard – it's not something you expect after a few minutes of discussing death. I glance back at Clove, and we lock eyes. Her eyes are wide and she only stares at me, waiting for my answer, like everyone else. Why should I hide our relationship? People will know by tomorrow, anyway; and perhaps this will help boost sponsor numbers. People in the Capitol will surely find us endearing, heartbreaking, desirable – cold murderers, in love with each other, stuck in a match to the death. Only one can survive. Our relationship is not a tool, and I respect it.. but if this will benefit and help us, it's worth it. I glance back at Clove again and she nods urgently – consent. "Well, Caesar, I…," My words are cut off as the buzzer chimes.

"Too bad!" Caesar pouts. The audience boos. "Well, Cato, good luck!" He gushes. "Thank you, Caesar. Though I don't need it," I growl. The audience's booing turns into claps and cheers as I head back to my seat. I sit down, and the District 3 girl takes my place next to Caesar. _"Good job,"_ Clove mouths. She moves her foot against mine – our subtle, secret way of showing care – and I settle back to watch the interviews. District 3 is unremarkable – the only words they get out of their mouths are shaky, nervous whispers. After them, it's time for the last of the Careers. Thalia tries to mimic Clove, her attempt boring and unconvincing. Ethan plays up the sympathy card, bringing tears to the audience's eyes.

I drift off as the interviews go on. None are particularly interesting or successful. I find myself thinking of my own interview. I suppose it went well. Mention the word 'kill' in your interview and you're bound to receive a flood of people willing to sponsor you. In a way, I'm disappointed that I didn't reveal… well, what Clove and I have. Anywhere else, I'd think it selfish and petty to use our relationship for publicity.. for gain. But, Panem only sees us as killers – if they saw our caring side, they'd be falling over themselves to sponsor us. As soon as we're in the arena, they'll find out anyway; but first impressions are everything (… especially when sponsors tend to bet the most money after these).

I'm about to fall asleep when Katniss' turn comes. This, I want to see – I wonder what the girl with the 11 is like. As she begins talking, I come to the conclusion that she is nothing special. She doesn't seem to have an angle – which is surprising. With an 11, you'd expect her mentors to pushing arrogance. I roll my eyes as the interview continues – it's fluff and gushing. Caesar asks her about her outfits and she actually stands up and twirls around, giggling like an air-head. At this point, I realize that I'd have to be insane to actually _fear_ her in the arena. If this is how she generally acts, she'll be easy to finish. Lastly, what everyone's been waiting for – Caesar asks her about her sister. Family devotion. How lovely. _Oh, Katniss.. I'm sure your sister will adore watching your bloody death as she sits helpless, back in the slums of 12.._

The clapping she receives as she saunters back to her seat makes me want to pummel a wall – no, better… _her_. Peeta comes next. He's a joker, clearly. He pokes fun at Caesar and the audience, laughing and grinning at every chance. His interview's almost finished when Caesar shoots him the same question I was asked. "Do you have a girl back home, Peeta?" Peeta bites his lip, and shakes his head slowly. "Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" Caesar prompts. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her, ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping." The crowd sighs sadly. I stop listening, angry – the crowd is _loving_ this. That is, until a certain part catches my ear: after Caesar advises him to win, a guaranteed way to get the girl, he says, "Winning.. won't help in my case," Even I want to hear this. "Why ever not?" Caesar asks. "Because… because… she came here with me."

oooo

"_I can't believe this_!" I yell. I slam my hand into the wall, tearing a hole in it. I hardly made it off the stage without doing something rash, and now I can't control myself. "I was going to tell Caesar about us, Clove. But the buzzer rang. The damn buzzer – and now Panem loves them." If the buzzer hadn't rang, Clove and I would be the ones basking in glory, with our tragic love story. Katniss and Peeta would be forgettable and average. And, yes, everyone will find out about us tomorrow – but now we have Katniss and Peeta to compete with. People may think we're acting simply to steal and copy some of their success. "He doesn't even love her…," I growl. "It's just a clever stunt." Clove grabs my shaking fists. "It doesn't matter, Cato. _It doesn't_," She murmurs, soothingly. "We can kill them. I love you, and nothing can change that. If we have the Cornucopia – we won't need sponsors for food, supplies and weapons. We have each other in these Games. That's all we need. We're at a higher advantage than they are – training, our control over the Cornucopia. Who cares if a few rich idiots happen to be touched by their love story?" She says. "How do you always manage to make me feel better?" I murmur. "It's worth it to make an effort when you care about someone so much," She whispers.

We wash off the make-up – it takes a few good minutes of scrubbing – and change into normal clothes. Then, we're called to dinner. The table is piled high with food – somewhat of a parting gift, I suppose. I eat all I can – after all, this may be my last 'normal' meal. As we finish eating and settle in the lounge to watch the interviews, Brutus starts to speak. "You two did well – nailed your angles. Lots of other District 2 victors complimented you on your success," Of course they did – no doubt their interviews were similar. It's painful to re-watch my interview, to see how much of a brute I was – but thankfully, the cheering for Clove and me is massive and strong. Cheering for most of the other tributes is scattered and weak – until we reach Katniss and Peeta's interviews. Their applause challenges ours. Clove's reasoning has calmed me down a bit – but, still, listening to Peeta's sappy declaration of love angers me. "He must be desperate," Brutus says, smirking. "Haymitch has had nothing to work with since he started mentoring –he finally found a small amount of substance and potential with these two, so he's doing everything he can. Considering he's had years to pile up ideas he never has the chance to use, it's kind of disappointing that he picked the unoriginal route of… 'love'." Enobaria snarls. Brutus laughs. "Come arena-time, the Capitol will realize who the decent tributes are, and sponsor them. Don't worry about these two," He says. The interviews end, the anthem plays and the screen fades to black and falls silent. "I guess this is good-bye," Clove says, breaking the silence that has fallen over us.

"Any last words of wisdom?" I say, to Brutus and Enobaria. "_Kill_. It's what the sponsors and the Capitol want. It's what keeps them talking – about _you_. Dominate the Bloodbath. Make the deaths you cause suspenseful – that's what they like. Don't trust your alliance – I've lost a few good tributes over the years from trickery. You can sleep while District 1 or 4 keeps guard, but sleep lightly and armed. Lead the alliance, and at the break-up, take as many down as you can. Always have plenty of supplies with you – carry a few weapons on you, food, water, the basics. Camp has been destroyed before, and those unprepared have died. Don't take risks. If something doesn't seem right, it isn't. If you find a water source or plants, do not use them. Chances are, they're poisonous. _Never_ let your guard down, at every second you should be prepared to fight and run. If the arena happens to be a wasteland of some sort, stay at camp. Tributes will find you when they become desperate enough. Ration your supplies wisely – you _can_ run out of food and water. Take care of yourself. You must never be too weak to fight. Especially towards the end – the Gamemakers love their finale. Make sure you are hydrated, well-fed, rested and ready. You will die if you are haggard and injured. And.. _always_ be aware of your surroundings. Don't stomp around the arena like an animal.. you never know what's coming." Brutus says. I soak in every bit of information he hands us – advice from a victor, someone who has experienced and conquered the Games, is very valuable. "Good luck. With your training, you'll do amazingly. Enobaria and I will try our best to send you what you need." He says. He pats my back and gives Clove a quick hug. "I'm sure Brutus will agree – though you've been an interesting pair to mentor, you two are some of the greatest I've worked with. You have potential – milk it for all it's worth. Best of luck. If you ever feel alone, remember that we are watching and rooting for your return." Enobaria says. She hugs both of us. I'm very surprised by their kindness – these aren't the people I've seen on the television. "Good bye..," Brutus and Enobaria both echo. And though they don't say it, both of them know that they will never see at least one of us again. I know that I will not see them again. So I savor every bit of their care.

We're allowed to go to bed, and Clove and I leave, waving our very last good-byes to them. We go into Clove's room and curl up together. "Isn't it odd…? How much you appreciate something when you know you may never experience it again?" She murmurs. "Oh, Clove…," I say. She shouldn't have to feel this way. And it kills me inside that she does. "I acted so horribly in the interviews. The districts hate us, Cato. We're villains." She says. "Who cares what they believe? You – and I – know who we _truly_ are. That's what matters. If they want to hate us because we are in the Games and will do what we must to survive, then it's their loss." I stroke her hair and she lays her head on my lap. I'm convinced she's asleep when she rises suddenly. She traces her hand along my chest. "What do you think the arena will be like?" She says. "The Gamemakers have learned from their mistakes in the past – I'd say a desert or a frozen tundra is out," I say. "In less than 24 hours, we will be in the arena. This is surreal." She says. I nod my agreement. All of this is happening so quickly, whether we want it to or not. "Cato, this is the last time we'll have together truly alone." I kiss her lips gently and she wraps her arms around my shoulders. "If we were back in District 2…," I begin to say. "If we were back in District 2, I'd run away with you. No, we wouldn't run away – we'd just leave. Let the trainers try to stop us. We'd get married. We'd build a home in the mountains – with no television, of course. Then, we'd have twenty children – Cato Jr., Brutus, Enobaria…," I stop her. "A mini Enobaria running around? Yes, because that's what we need…," She presses her finger against my lips. "Then, we'd grow old together. Have our yearly visits to District 4 – to see the ocean, of course. Hike in our lovely mountains. Sit together in front of the fire on cold, snowy nights. See our grandchildren run around.. in a world without the Hunger Games. Die in each other's arms, when we're 100…," She finishes. A single tear runs down her cheek and I wipe it away. The idea of this future is so painfully inviting… and it hurts so much to know it can't happen. "I love you, Clove. I'd do anything for you…," I say. "I know, Cato." She says. We lay down. She puts her head on my shoulder and I can feel her tears dampen my shirt. I clutch her hand and feel my eyelids getting heavier. I try to fight it – sleep's not important when you're about to be sent into a death match. Clove kisses my cheek. "It's fine – get some sleep. You'll need it. Sweet dreams, my love." And with that I drift off, surrendering to the darkness.

**Clove POV**

I rub my red eyes and stare out the window. The sky is gray, and the dawn is coming. In a few hours, we will be in the arena. Our actions judged by the thousands watching us. At the end of this day, many families will be grieving at the loss of a child, sibling, grandchild, niece, nephew..

I bury my face in my hands. I haven't gotten any sleep. The nerves are consuming – I'm sure I'm not the only tribute awake right now. I have no idea how Cato is fast asleep – after tossing and turning for hours, I decided it was a lost cause. I'm sure sleep would've done me some good – I'm a mess. Worrying about the future, Cato, the Games.. it's a lot for somebody to cope with.

Tears start to stream down my cheeks as I recall our conversation last night. Lusting over a perfect future – a future I will never have the privilege to share with him. It's evident that I love him with all of my heart and always will – why else would it hurt this much? Painful questions start to flood my brain and I groan. Which one of us will die first? What will the other do when they are alone and broken? It's chilling to imagine… but in a few weeks, both of us could be rotting in the ground. A horrifying thought. Something I won't even begin to let myself believe.

I realize in an instant: I don't care if I die. I care if Cato dies. I know how much he cares for me, I know how torn he'd be if I died. He can win. He's such an amazing person – he doesn't deserve to die in the arena. I _can't_ let him die in the arena. And as I ponder this, I make the hardest decision I've ever had to. I have to make him despise me. I have to make him believe that my love and care isn't genuine. I have to make him believe that I don't truly care about him. I don't want to hurt him… but if I can make him see me as nothing, he can win and leave.. he can have a life.. a future..

I walk over to our bed. "Cato, wake up," I say gently, trying to sound perky. His eyes open, bleary and sleepy. He smiles at me. "Something nice to wake up to," He says, yawning. I remain silent. "The Games…," He says. I nod. I lean forward and kiss him on the lips, with no warning. The feeling of a thousand butterflies in my stomach tempts me to abandon my plan… but his future and life is on the line. It's so incredibly selfish of me to do this _now _– when we've already been through so much together. I should've had the wisdom to break 'us' off the second it happened. Not that I don't love him… but, now, trying to save his life will be so much harder. " I love you, Clove," He says. It's so incredibly painful, knowing that I will never feel one of his amazing kisses and never hear those beautiful words again. I can't hesitate any longer. "Do you, really?" I say coldly. He looks surprised. "Of co…," He starts to say. I cut him off. "I'm sorry, Cato. But I've been lying to you." I say, my voice frigid and distant. "I don't love you. I've just been using you. I've been training my whole life! Do you really think I'd throw it away for some boy? Trust me, after I win, there will be plenty of men after me. I don't need you. I just needed your protection to help me win! But, I had a change of heart… I realized that I only need myself to win," I finish. I can hardly choke out the words. He looks stunned, horrified and hurt. I-I feel sick. I feel hollow. I feel as though I've just been stabbed in the stomach. I want to fall apart – I want to tell him my plan, I want him to forgive me, I want to fall into his arms. "C-Clove.. _I love you_," He says, his voice quivering. "I gave you everything – I told you everything.. I trusted you." The betrayal in his eyes is overwhelming. "Everything we spoke about…? Every time we kissed and hugged…?" He says. I nod. "If it matters, you're sort of handsome," I say. My own voice is shaking – I'm starting to break – I can't keep this up any longer. "I'm.. so… sorry," I say. He stares at me wordlessly. Emptiness in his eyes. As we lock eyes, the tears start to flow. I'm frozen in place. I can't stop them as they fall. Our eyes are locked for a full minute, at least – when he opens his mouth to say something, I run from the room before I can hear it. I lean against the wall in the hallway, fighting the urge to sob. I hate myself for hurting him – and I know the pain I have caused him will be long-lasting. But I have made the right decision. When he thinks of me, in the future, he will think of me as a horrible person. He won't love me. But if he can live and move on, my sacrifice is worth it.

The costs of my decision are high; I may have saved him, but I have destroyed myself. My rock, my life, the person I love … I have gotten rid of him. And now I feel empty inside. Truly – all the emotions I once had seem to be gone. I am a hollow person, made up of sadness and pain. Of course, I won't immediately give up in the Games. But, when it is my time to die, I will not protest. I'll just fade away..

Oh, Cato. I hope on your deathbed, many years from now, you will realize that what I did was for your own good. I hope you realize that the pain I caused you was simply because I loved you so much. I hope you can let go, and forgive me..

I know I will take my love for Cato to the grave. _If only he could do the same…_

**Cato POV**

She's lying..

In other words, I refuse to believe that she's not. This feels like a nightmare.. I'm praying I'll wake up and everything will be back to normal. All the hours we've talked, and revealed everything to each other. All the times we've kissed. All the times we've hugged. Every time I've heard her laugh.. made her smile…

I feel like a fool. I'm head-over-heels in love with her. To consider that she was acting this whole time – to consider that she doesn't love or care for me… I lose my breath. She doesn't love me. Everything we said.. everything we did.. I'm going through the Games alone. I have no one now. No family. No one I'm even remotely close to. I have no one to fight for.

I'd give up everything for her, still. I can't just… forget about her, and everything we had. I'll still watch over her in the arena. I'll still make sure she gets out. Even if she eagerly anticipates my death. Even if she doesn't care.

What would the people who trained and raised me think, if they saw me now? Mighty Cato, falling apart. But they'll never know.. how much I love her.

My room door bursts open – I'm hoping it's Clove – but it's not. It's my stylist. "Time for the arena," I nod and follow. We head into the hall and into the elevator. A second before the door closes, a hand stops it; and in come Clove and her stylist. Our stylists – as clueless as they generally are – seem to pick up the tension between us. She stares at me for a few fleeting seconds: her eyes dull, her face tear-stained. I'm waiting for her to say something – to tell me it was a joke, a prank.. but she turns away and avoids my gaze. We head to the roof. The last time we were here… I stop my thoughts, knowing that paining myself will only decrease my performance in the arena. Two hovercrafts appear, one for Clove, one for me. Ladders drop down, and I look towards Clove. "See you soon…," I say, to no response. I grab the ladder and immediately my body goes limp. A current attaches me to the ladder as I'm lifted inside. I'm inside soon, and a man wearing a lab coat approaches me, holding a syringe. "Keep still, Cato. This is your tracker." He says. A tracker – the tool Gamemakers use to log our every single movement. I feel a second of sharp pain – but then it's gone and I am released from the ladder. My stylist is fetched from the roof, and the hovercraft starts to move. I glance out the window for the whole trip, wanting to make the best of the scenery. Long, dark wilderness follows bright, crowded city – the last city and forest I may ever see.

The windows are blacked out, meaning we're near the arena. The hovercraft lands and the ladder lowers, leading into a tube underground. We go to a small room meant specifically for my preparation – we're below the arena now, in the Stockyard. The Games are beginning in a half hour.

I shower tensely, my thoughts wrapped around the arena I will be in very shortly. Hopefully the climate is something.. livable. Sweltering heat or freezing cold will be unbearable – and it won't take long for it to go to your head. My clothes for the arena arrive – and as I see them, I sigh in relief. They seem to be meant for mild weather – no extremes. Long pants and a sleeved shirt, a thin jacket, and durable boots. As I finish dressing in them, my stylist hands me something. _My token_.

He drops it onto my outstretched hand and I squeeze it. _"I love you, Cato. Wherever we are, together or apart. Forever and always." _A lie.. it was all a lie. I can't believe it was all a lie. A tear falls onto the heart-shaped chunk of wood, and I wipe it away hurriedly. I can't remember the last time I cried. I can't remember the last time something hurt me enough to force tears from my eyes. I should throw this away – tell my stylist that it's not mine and that I don't want it. But.. I can't. I want to be strong and tell myself that I don't need her. That I never actually cared for her. But it's not worth it to lie to myself in the time I have left. This token may mean nothing to her, but it means everything to me. I stick it into my jacket pocket, making sure the small space is firmly zippered so I will not lose it.

My stylist stares at me. "The Gamemakers had quite a field day with you and your District partner's tokens. Usually they're not so… interesting." They finish this comment with a smirk. "If I wanted to, I could kill you, right here. Now," I growl. Their eyes – formally alit with cruelty – are now alit with fear and horror. "N-No, you.. you.. couldn't." I mimic their prior smirk. "I could snap your neck, before the Capitol could rescue you. They'd kill me, maybe, but not before I killed you." I snarl. This game is fun. "There are cameras.. p-please, I'm begging you..," I stop as I realize the trouble I may be in. A lowly tribute threatening a semi-important Capitol figure? I'm too valuable to straight-out kill, but the Gamemakers can make my life hell in the arena if I've crossed one of their own.

I let out a fake, bubbly laugh. "I'm kidding – why would I ever hurt you? The tributes are the ones I want to kill. You're a great person – I really admire and respect you for doing such a great job on my costume. Someone with your talent should never die. I just wanted some fun before the arena. Can you accept my apology?" I try to sound genuine, but my words drip with sarcasm and insincerity. They buy it, however. "Oh, no, I understand! The Games aren't very funny, after all. Thanks! I can't wait to see you in the arena!" They gush. That was a close one – from now on, I'll save my impulsiveness for the arena. Which shouldn't be too hard, considering –

My thoughts are cut off as a voice streams from a speaker in the corner of the room. It's time to launch. I will be in the arena in no more than a few minutes. I go forward and stand on the metal plate that has appeared in the far-end of the room. It'll lift me up, into the arena. "Good luck," My stylist says. "Thank you," I say, nodding. A glass cylinder lowers, enveloping me. The metal plate starts to rise out of the ground, and in a few seconds, I am in the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

We're required to stand on our metal plates for sixty seconds – to give us a feel of our surroundings, the Cornucopia, and other tributes. I find Clove in the row of tributes – she's 5 or 6 people down from me. As soon as my eyes meet hers she looks away. I take in the arena around me – there's a lake, forest, and some down-ward leading land that I can't tell what holds the path to. The Cornucopia is shiny and gold, packed with a wealth of supplies. I spot a diamond-encrusted sword at the tip of the mouth, and I know it's mine. I recall Brutus' advice. _Dominate the Bloodbath._

Adrenaline pulses through me. As the timer ticks on, going too slow for my tastes; I push everything out of my mind. My only focus is to get to the Cornucopia. Get to the Cornucopia and kill. This is everything I have been training for. Everything I know.

_Dominate it, I will._

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

_Let the 74th Hunger Games begin.._

**(I'm sorry for the lack of updates. My laptop broke but luckily I was able to get it fixed and retrieve my files. Chapter updates _will_ be once every few days now. Thank you, if you're reading! 8D … I understand that this chapter seems very 'final', but it's certainly not. You'll just have to see what happens next…)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Clove POV**

The gong chimes and I propel myself forward, my eyes locked on a set of knives in the heart of the Cornucopia. I've never sprinted this fast before – adrenaline is fueling my pounding feet, my moving legs. I glance around me and am delighted to see that I'm leading the tributes moving towards the Cornucopia. Usually, I'm not fond of my lack of height – but this time it has come in handy, and allowed me to move more swiftly towards my target.

I reach the Cornucopia and I immediately grab the knives. Marvel is right behind me. He picks up a spear and throws it at the nearest tribute, a girl, from District 3. The sharp tip punctures her abdomen and she falls, a torrent of blood spilling from her mouth. I'm repulsed at his nonchalance – he killed someone so effortlessly, so thoughtlessly. I glance at her crumpled body, her lifeless eyes. "I'm sorry," I murmur, to her corpse. I turn away, gripping my knives. I'm frozen. To my left, Glimmer is maiming someone with a blade. To my right, Marvel is claiming his second victim. As I view the awful carnage, I wait for some surge of feeling. But what I did, this morning – it has drained the sense from me. I feel like I'm observing this from a screen, miles and miles away from here.

Something catches the corner of my eye. It's Cato, hunched over the District 5 boy. Cato has already cut the boy's face with his sword – a deep, agonizing wound, but not a killing wound. Cato glances at me, and seeing my notice, he slits the boy's throat. Killing him. "I made it quick, for you," He says, emotionlessly, before heading onto the next tribute. These words snap some sense into me – what am I doing? Sponsors are watching. I am trying to save Cato. And letting tributes get away will not make this job any easier. I clench my knives, and without hesitation, I throw one at a retreating tribute. The girl tribute, from District 7. She dodges at the last second, preventing a fatal injury, sending the knife into her thigh. The wound isn't an immediate killer, but it's deep. Untreated, it will become infected. She's dead anyway. I run towards her, and she tries to flee, but the injury has incapacitated her. I pin her down – not wanting to risk missing again. "Please," She chokes out, her eyes wide with terror.

Every decent part of me screams to free her. But.. this is the Hunger Games. There is no excuse for killing someone, but killing is what the Games are about. I drain every thought, every protest from my brain; and allow my hands to make the decision. I shove a knife into her heart, and she takes a few gasping breaths before her body goes completely stiff. I feel myself go numb. For now, I have abandoned everything I stand for. I allow a different part of myself to take over – the apathetic part. The part that simply doesn't care.

I retrieve the knives, scan the surrounding area for tributes and find one. The boy from District 9 – he's only a few yards from me, and he's facing away, unaware of my presence. I aim carefully and it pays off, the knife landing in his back. As his body tips forward, I realize that someone is behind him. _Katniss_. I launch myself forward, desperate to reach her. She's one of our biggest competitors, with that 11 – if I could only kill her now…

She has no weapons. She will be easy prey. As soon as I get close enough, I shove a knife forward, aiming precisely. At the last second, she hoists her backpack up, protecting her head and shielding my knife. The knife lodges in her backpack.. rather than her head. I curse internally – I've given her a weapon and I've failed to kill her. It's tempting, but it's not worth it to trail her, especially when other tributes still remain in the thick of the Cornucopia.

I head back towards the Cornucopia. I notice Thalia struggling with another tribute, and I'm about to assist her when someone shoves me to the ground. I'm up in a second. I spin around. It's a boy – from District 7, the one whose District partner I killed earlier. He has no weapons – he struck me with one of his fists. He's challenging me to a fight – a poor decision. I pull the two knives from the girl and throw one at him, striking his lower-stomach. I've delivered his final wound, certainly – it'll kill him, though it may take some time for him to bleed out. "I loved her!" He cries, ignoring his bloody, crimson wound. "Why didn't you save her, then?" I say coldly – if he wanted sympathy, love was certainly not the right sob story to pick. He stares at me blankly, saying nothing. "Well.. I guess I'm doing you a favor by allowing you to join her. I'll even use the same knife that killed her!" My voice sounds so frigid, so unlike my own. I shove the already-bloody knife into his heart, and he's dead in seconds. I pull out both knives and look around me.

Many tributes lie dead on the ground. Blood soaks the grass and the Cornucopia. The fighting seems to have stopped – any tributes that dared get too close to the Cornucopia are dead. I'm about to join Thalia, Marvel and Cato in the Cornucopia, where they're rooting through the supplies, when a blood-curdling scream rips through the air. I follow the sound, leading me to the other side of the Cornucopia. Glimmer is hunched over a tribute, hacking away at them with a sword. Their face is a bloody, indistinguishable mess. I can't tell what the gender or District of the victim is. Wounds lace their body, and Glimmer taunts them, though they seem to be on the verge of death. "What are you doing?" I say furiously. Torturing someone to such a degree is cruel and horrendous. No matter where you are. "Just having a bit of fun," She coos sweetly, grinning madly. She turns back to her victim, eager to cause them as much agony as possible before their inevitable death. I can't just… allow this to happen. Somewhere, this tribute's family is watching – watching helpless as they're put through hell. Praying that they lost consciousness far before they were put through the brunt of this misery.

I slam the handle of one of my knives into the back of Glimmer's head. She screeches and falls away from the tribute, clutching her head and moaning in pain. Before she can get up, I crouch over the tribute and plunge my knife into their forehead, ending their shallow, desperate breaths. "You stole my kill!" Glimmer cries, already forgetful of her minor injury. "You were going too far." I growl. Maybe I'm a hypocrite – but if you're going to kill someone in the Hunger Games, you should at least have the decency to make it quick and clean. That's the least someone who dies in this hellhole deserves.

She shrieks and lunges at me, wielding her sword. My instincts immediately take over – I'm not overly skilled at combat, but I can handle her. She swings her sword towards my head, and I duck; barely avoiding the moving blade. In a flurry of motion I manage to trip her. I seize the opportunity to pin her down, and press a knife against her throat. I'm not going to kill her, as much as I despise her petty actions. She's a valuable alliance member… and I haven't quite forgotten our chat during training – I don't want to be the one to rip her away from her fiancé and siblings. "Remember.. I'm a leader of this alliance," I snarl. "If you have a problem, feel free to take it up with me." Her face is no longer arrogant – it's fearful. Even the strongest of people can turn into sniveling, terrified messes when faced with death. "O-Okay," She murmurs.

I leap up, taking my knife with me. When I turn around, I'm faced with Cato, Marvel, Thalia and Ethan. They stare at me solemnly – they must've all watched the whole thing play out. I push past them and head inside the Cornucopia. I haven't had time yet to examine any of the supplies – I only have my knives. I start to rummage through the mass of things, adding a few more blades to my collection. There is such an overwhelming, never-ending amount of supplies in the Cornucopia that, apart from weapons, Careers don't really claim anything as their own. There's enough for all of us.

"Clove?" Cato says, poking his head in the Cornucopia. A flush of red immediately stains my cheeks – I still can't believe what I've done. I force myself to meet his eyes. "Marvel, Glimmer, Thalia and I are going to look for drifters. Stay here, guard camp. We're leaving Ethan with you," He says. His words are distant – it's strange to hear him speak without his normal warmth. I nod. "Clove…," He says, turning back before bounding to join the others. "Get rest. You need it." He runs to catch up to the others. "Good-bye!" I call, but he doesn't turn back.

For the first time, I catch reflection of myself in the gleam of one of my knives. My hair is matted, my eyes bloodshot; streaks of blood cover my face. I try my best to smooth out my hair and wipe the stains from my skin. I feel a bit… betrayed, hurt at the fact that I'm left as a babysitter while the rest of them tribute-hunt. But, in reality, it's not unreasonable for Cato to not desire my company. I sigh and get up, joining Ethan just outside of the Cornucopia. "Hi!" He pipes brightly. I feel guilty, realizing that I didn't think of his well-being once during the Bloodbath - I'm surprised that he even managed to survive. He holds a spear that's nearly bigger than him. "Don't worry – we'll probably go hunting again later tonight. I'll make sure we aren't left out, then." I say, forcing a smile.

I glance around the field, and feel my stomach roll. Bodies and blood still stain it. There's a certain time frame before the bodies can be collected – usually the Gamemakers wait until the Careers take care of drifters to end the Bloodbath. Drifters – as we call them, in District 2 – are tributes that don't have the good sense to get far, far away from the Cornucopia. There are always tributes that linger within a half-mile of the Cornucopia. Generally it's out of desperation because they made away with nothing and hope they can sneak past the Careers and nab a weapon, but sometimes it's due to lack of common sense and stupidity.

I can feel my eyelids getting heavier as I stare out into the trees. My lack of sleep combined with the exertion of the Bloodbath has exhausted me. To keep my mind alert, I entertain myself by searching through everything in the Cornucopia. I find a jacket with slots in it – perfect for carrying knives – and quickly put it on. I pull the knives I've collected so far out of the various places I've stored them – my pockets, my belt; and arrange them neatly in the jacket. I'm delighted at this find – now I can easily grab a weapon if I ever need to, without my opponents expecting anything. I pull my mother's letter from my boot, and read it over and over again; the words I know by heart bring me peace and ease.

It's only been a few hours since the Games started, yet the hours feel like days. I try to ignore the fact that I'm responsible for three deaths – a fourth, maybe; though I really just put someone out of their otherwise-caused misery. Three families are anticipating my death eagerly… revenge for their children. Though I may've pleased the Capitol, I've certainly not pleased myself.

Another half hour passes with no signs of any tributes come to hijack the Cornucopia. I start to yawn, and move my body around in a desperate attempt to keep myself awake. "I can handle the guarding – you can take a nap, if you want to," Ethan says, noticing my droopy eyes. My body desperately urges me to accept this offer – what help will I be to this alliance if I'm half-asleep and out of my proper senses? The arena isn't overflowing with activity, at the moment – if I get some rest now, I'll have a clear head for whatever the rest of the day may bring. "Yes. I think I'll take a quick nap – carefully watch the forest and lake. If you see _anything_, wake me up." I don't think there's any major harm in taking a speedy nap –I can be up and ready to fight in a second, if necessary. I fish a sleeping bag from the Cornucopia and lay down on top of it, careful not to position myself near blood or bodies. I clutch a knife in my hand, in case I wake up to an approaching fight. "Look," I say. "If I sleep any longer than half an hour, just poke me. Thank you – I'll make this up to you." He smiles kindly and nods. I shut my heavy eyelids.

oooo

I wake up – and immediately start to wheeze, choking for air desperately. I open my eyes, and there's Ethan, sitting atop my chest. I blink furiously, trying to erase the scene in front of me, convinced that I'm dreaming. But as I realize that I'm not, I come to the conclusion that I am in a very dangerous situation. He's cutting off the flow of air to my lungs – and from the cold smirk on his face, I can tell that it's purely intentional.

I try to move my hands, to push him off – but they're tied together, under him. I try to wiggle my legs and feet, but sense no motion. He has incapacitated me completely. "How..? Why..?" I whisper. "Oh, it was too easy, Clove," He says, his voice calculating and cruel. "As soon as you fell asleep, I knew I had my chance. You were out cold, unable to defend yourself." His smirk only grows wider along with each word. "I'm very good with nets, weaving – it was practically effortless to knot you up! I'm gentle and skilled.. I'm sure you only felt a slight prickle with every knot," He laughs. "You let me into the alliance because you thought I was so innocent and adorable, didn't you? You thought I'd die immediately." For a second, his arrogance is broken. His words are accusing. "From the minute you let me into your alliance, I formulated a plan. Kill you all off, whether it be in your sleep or.. _like this_," His grin returns. "I'm the next Finnick Odair." I spit at him and he gasps angrily. "Finnick Odair? Are you deluded? You may've beat me, by pure luck and chance, you brat – but do you really think you can defeat the likes of Cato or Marvel, even?" I growl. He punches me and I am utterly defenseless, only able to take the blow as it comes. "They're stupid, like you are. I can beat them. They'll never see it coming. Cato, especially. How will he cope, after his precious Clove's death? I've already got the story planned – you put up a great fight, but the tribute that came to get water from the lake was only stronger. You died instantly.. quickly… painlessly," He coos. "Don't use Cato as a weapon. He'll be able to see through you. Do you really think he'll accept that story so readily?" I taunt. A flash of fear runs through his eyes. Of course, he doesn't know what happened between Cato and I – but if I have a chance to put him at unease, I will.

"It doesn't matter," He snarls. "I'm winning these Games.. and just for those last few comments, I think you deserve a nice, painful, slow death." He pulls out a knife – _my_ knife – and waves it in front of my face teasingly. "So, this is how you repay me for sparing you a Bloodbath death?" I say coolly. "Oh, Clove – I liked you. Had a crush on you, actually. But winning is my top priority, and you needed to be taken down. Such a pretty face… too bad that I'll have to destroy it."

I try to assess the situation rationally – and, immediately, it's evident that I will not be getting out of this. Ethan seems to be… disturbed, to say the least. He won't accept my reasoning; and I'm bound. I can't fight, and with his weight against me, it's difficult to even move. The rope tied around me feels like silk – but it's tough and heavy, like chains. My bound limbs cannot break free. I'm frozen in place. Knowing I have no time to spare, I launch my head and shoulders forward in an attempt to knock him off. But he's too heavy – and my try earns me another punch to the head, disorienting me further. If only I could reach one of my knives…

I can't believe this. All my hours of training. All the misery I've been put through. My life has been lived.. just to be ended by this twisted child, just to be ended due to my poor decisions. I'm at fault, entirely. It was an idiotic choice to allow my fatigue to control me – how I managed to stay asleep while he tied me up is beyond my knowledge. I'm the one that allowed him into the alliance. I'm the one that trusted him, when the Hunger Games are not a place to do so. I'm the one that thought him a reliable ally, when, in reality, he's…. this. At least I can have a small amount of relief: his plan to trick the rest of the alliance won't work. After I'm gone, they won't have any use for him. They'll finish him before he can get away.

As he presses the knife against my throat, emotions come flooding in. I have failed Enobaria, Brutus, everyone that has trained me – as I imagine their stunned faces watching, hot tears of shame begin to spill from my eyes. Fate can be so cruel. I've already let go of Cato, breaking my heart in the process; and now I'm going to die a painful death on the first day of the Games. I have failed Cato. I have failed my father, the victor. I have failed my mother. Most of all, I have failed myself. I… can't.. believe… this. I am dying unloved. My grave will go untouched. People may look back on me occasionally – to remark how odd it was that a girl with a 10 managed to die on the first day, but that's all. I wonder how Cato will feel.. and for a fleeting moment, I am glad that I did what I did. If it helps ease his pain… My soul shatters as I realize that, really, I've fulfilled no purpose in my life. I have had very few moments of happiness in my life – most of which have involved Cato. I am so empty, and so alone.

I don't call for help – who would I call for, Cato? _"Oh, Cato – I was so despicable to you… now, save me!" _If I must die, I will die strong and unwaveringly, with a small amount of dignity left. Everyone watching must be sitting on the edge of their seats – how often does this happen? Someone untrained, young and weak killing a Career?

I close my eyes and take a few breaths – as hard as it is, considering Ethan's perched on my chest. I will not turn into a regretful mess on my deathbed. I will die knowing that I've fought a good battle. If this is how it ends, so be it. I will accept my death with peace.

Ethan traces the knife across my face. "Crying?" He says tauntingly. That breaks me – if he's going to kill me, he should at least spare me some respect. "Just kill me already, you bastard!" I scream. "I'll kill you when I want to, Clove," He says, chuckling. It disgusts me, how much he's enjoying this. He runs the knife across my neck, cutting deeply enough to draw blood. I close my eyes and let go, ready to accept any agony that may come.

**Cato POV**

"We're going back," I say. "Why?" Marvel says whiningly. We've gone a few miles into the woods, finding no one. It's a lost cause – and we're running out of water and food. "We have to replenish our supplies, and we need to check on camp." I say. "You mean, you need to check on Clove?" Marvel says, coaxing a laugh from Glimmer. "I dare you – say that again," I snarl. Their laughter stops and we fall into silence. The silence remains as we get a few miles closer to camp. "Why haven't the cannons fired yet?" Glimmer says. I'm wondering the same thing – unless there's a fight going on somewhere, usually the death toll of the Bloodbath has already been taken. "Usually they only withhold the cannons and collecting this long if there is still a struggle going on near the Cornucopia," Thalia says delicately. As if confirming her words, a shout rings through the air. _"Just kill me already, you bastard!" Clove_. The voice is Clove's. Adrenaline pounds through my veins as I start to run. I desperately command my legs to move faster and faster as I sprint through the forest. I'm aware of nothing around me, only my goal – to get there before anyone can hurt her. I reach the field and don't even pause as I continue running towards her. She's on the ground, underneath Ethan. I can't tell if she's hurt – but if he has even touched her, I'll make him regret it… a thousand times over. I reach them – the kid is so engrossed in her that he hasn't even noticed me – and I throw him off. I plunge my sword into his heart without hesitation and leave him to die. "Clove! Clove!" I say, heading back towards her. Her eyes are closed, and a stream of blood flows down her neck. "Cato..," Her words are slow and disconnected. Her eyes flip open. "Cato." Tears run down her face. She's tied down – I pick up a knife lying in the grass and use it to slit the ropes that are wrapped around her elbows, hands, ankles and legs. She leaps up, wraps her arms around me and buries her face in my shoulder. "Cato…," She whispers. She shivers and pulls herself away from me. "Thank you for saving me," She says coolly. "Your wound..," I say. "It's not deep," She says. "I'm sure I can find some disinfectant and bandages in the Cornucopia." She turns away before I can protest. I feel… rejected; though the relief that she's not seriously injured makes it easy to ignore this. I came so close to losing her – I don't think I've quite processed it yet…

Ethan's death signals the end of the Bloodbath. Eleven cannons are fired, and one by one, the bodies are collected. I had three kills, him included. I killed the District 5 boy quickly, after Clove shot me a horrified look; my other kill I… prolonged. I should feel guilt but I… don't. I ended their lives with no effort or hesitation.. I've become desensitized.

I follow Clove into the Cornucopia. "What happened?" I prod gently. She stays silent for a few moments, as if debating whether to tell me. "I…," Her voice comes out weakly and she clears her throat, trying again. "I made an awful decision," She says. "The effort of the Bloodbath and lack of sleep got to me. I tried my best to stay awake – but after a while of my yawning, Ethan told me to get some rest and reassured me that he'd be fine," She says. "I heeded his words – I trusted him, and I thought some rest would clear my head. He managed to tie me up while I was asleep – I guess years of net-weaving in 4 made his hands nimble and skilled. When I woke up, he had me pinned down. I tried to fight – but I couldn't break free of the rope and without my hands I'm useless." She says. "If he had just stabbed me in my sleep, one of those eleven cannons would be for me. But he wanted to have fun. He taunted me – he said he'd kill you and be the next Finnick Odair. Thank you, Cato. If you had come only a few minutes later…," She says. "I know how pathetic it is that he nearly managed to kill me, after my life of training. I owe everything to you." She hangs her head in shame. "It's not your fault – you trusted your ally, and he happened to be a psychopath. You couldn't have foreseen that.. don't be hard on yourself, in any other situation you could've killed him," I say. For a second, it's like this morning never really happened. She wraps her arms around me and I stroke her hair. After only a few seconds, she backs away. Her eyes glue themselves to mine and she stares at me sorrowfully, as though she wants to say something. She walks out of the Cornucopia, though; ignoring her neck wound and remaining silent. I want to follow her.. but I don't.

I shove a few canteens of water, matches, a flashlight and bandages into my backpack, and hoist it up on my shoulders. "Clove, Thalia, stay here and guard camp; the rest of us are going tribute hunting." I say. Clove starts to protest, but I stop her words. "Your neck is still bleeding.. you should stay here, to recover from the shock," I say. Her wound has a thin, crimson soaked bandage wrapped around it; blood still seeps down her neck. I don't want to leave her alone – not after I came so close to losing her. But, at the same time, it hurts too much to be here. To be around her when I know we'll never act the way we used to again. "You're right, I suppose.. have bountiful hunting," She says. We meet eyes and I'm the first to look away. "Thank you," I murmur, and leave her with a nod.

I head towards the forest, clutching my sword; hearing the footsteps of Glimmer and Marvel behind me. They speed up their pace so they're beside me. Marvel holds a spear, and Glimmer holds a bow and quiver of arrows. "You can shoot a bow?" I say, staring at the weapon skeptically. Knives, spears and swords are far more common among Careers. "Of course," She says. She attaches an arrow to the bowstring and pulls back. The arrow goes haywire and lands only 15 feet away from us, on the forest floor. "Ow!" She shrieks, letting out a string of curse words. Across her thumb is a red gash, spewing blood. "The arrow must've skinned me!" She cries, wrapping a thick bandage around the small wound. Noticing our silence, her cheeks redden. She retrieves the arrow. "I can do better! I just get rusty without practice, is all," She says, her voice high and defensive. She tries again, and the shot results similarly. Marvel laughs and she slams her foot into his shin. "Must be this bow.. I'm just not used to it. Plus, those arrows aren't made properly…," She growls. She shoves the bow into her backpack and pulls out a blade. It's a small sword – not quite as powerful or heavy as mine. I can assume that she handles it better than she handled the bow – she had to get that 8 somehow.

"So, Cato.. what's going on with the chick from your District and you?" Marvel says. "You saved her life, that definitely deserves more action than a hug," He snickers. I can respond to this in one of two ways – either, I can bash some sense into that tiny brain of his; or I can please the sponsors and be the brute I was during the interviews. The latter seems to be the safer option – the Capitol wants the Cato that kills, the brutish Cato. Not the Cato that would give up his life for a girl that doesn't even care for him.

"It's not like that anymore," I grumble. "You finally came to your senses? I knew you would. First, you use 'em – pretend to care about them, explore their body, ya know. Then, you kick them to the curb after you've seen it all. The girl from your District, she's all right – but, man, there's better. Have you seen Cashmere, from my District?" He says, and licks his lips. I'm disgusted, and can feel the bile rising in my throat. I expect Glimmer to frown at his words – but she pouts and shoves him. "You think Cashmere, that old hag, is attractive? Do you _see_ what you have standing next to you?" She says. He glances at her chest and grins. "You're not bad…," She giggles and kisses him on the cheek. "Keep the compliments coming!" She says. Both of them wait for me to speak. "That dress you wore at the interviews was certainly something," I say, forcing the words from my mouth, playing along. I say this to make up for everything I've done connecting myself to Clove in the arena – letting nothing stop me from saving her, hugging her, speaking to her in a way that suggests we're more than allies. I don't want to come off as desperate to the audience – and I need to accept that Clove doesn't care for me.. as hard as it is. "Oh, really?" She purrs, stroking my arm. Her touch repulses me. Clove is the only girl I want near me.. whereas Clove's touch sends shivers through me, Glimmer's touch makes my skin crawl. I pull away from her.

Their childish banter finally dies and we walk along in silence. As we trudge on, conquering mile after mile, Glimmer and Marvel start to fall behind, walking a few yards away from me. I try to ignore their conversation, focusing instead on the forest and the task at hand; but I catch bits and pieces of their words anyway. When Clove's name is mentioned, my ears start to perk up. "How pathetic! She almost got killed by a.. what.. how old was the kid? 12?" Marvel says. "I know! What a disgrace. If I were her, I would kill myself from the shame." Glimmer responds. "Could she not fight him? I could kill him with my hands chopped off and my eyes blindfolded," Marvel snickers. "How'd she manage to get that 10, anyway?" He continues. "I bet you she stripped for them – I bet you she stripped for Cato, too! Why else would he have been so… charmed with her?" Glimmer says. They slap hands, laughing.

No one will disrespect her like that, not around me. I spin around and glare at both of them. I don't say anything, for fear of setting myself off – my hands are shaking in anger, and I have a very strong urge to make them pay for what they've said. Both of them cut off their chat and stop walking. They back away, taking notice of the weapon in my hand and the murderous expression on my face. I turn around and continue walking, satisfied at their fear. So, this is how Careers are supposed to act. I may not care for anyone besides Clove, but… to tear apart someone, someone you don't even know, so bluntly and coldly.. it's childish and pathetic.

We progress a few miles further – checking behind trees and in bushes for tributes. Those that survived the Bloodbath seemed to have the good sense to flee. Apart from the alliance, eight tributes remain. When nightfall comes, we will find out whom.

I'm thrown from my daydreaming with a shout from Marvel. "_District 12_!" He yells. A blond-haired figure explodes from the cluster of trees to my left; running desperately away from us. I follow his pounding feet, cursing myself for not bringing a spear – throwing my sword will do me no good. Glimmer, Marvel, and I are gaining on him. "Glimmer!" I yell. "Your bow!" A second later an arrow flies through the air. It lodges itself in Peeta's arm and he falls, cursing. He tries to get up and continue running, but he falls back to the ground, clutching his leg and moaning in pain. He has twisted his ankle, or something of the sort. His face is covered in bruises, and blood spews from where he pulled the arrow out. "Where's your girlfriend?" I say. "Oh, I see – she rejected you and left you to die? How sad, Lover Boy," I say bitterly. I press my sword against his throat and he cowers, knowing it's too late to run. "We can share him.. let's have fun," I say, acknowledging Marvel and Glimmer's eager expressions and ready weapons. If Clove isn't here, and if sponsors are watching… what's the harm? "Wait!" He cries. "I want to join your alliance! I got an 8.. the same as two of you," He says.

I exchange glances with Glimmer and Marvel, and they shrug skeptically. "So, why should we keep you around? How did you get that 8?" I say. I return my sword to his chest – his eyes bulge in shock and before I can react, he pulls a knife from his jacket and throws it through the air. It lands 30 feet away and a dull thud echoes through the forest as it sticks in a tree. His skills can't compare to Clove's, but he's decent. We don't have use for him – but he's a link to Katniss. The girl with the 11. I think we'll see where having him as an alliance member goes. Perhaps he knows something about her, and if we keep him around long enough, we'll coax it out of him. "Fine," I say. He sighs in relief. I toss him a bandage and he wraps it around his arm in surprise. My intentions aren't kind – we can't have Katniss' love dying of infection, can we? If anything, we can use him as a trap… who knows? Even if his 'love' was a lie, she seems like the kind of person – from her interview, at least – that would believe it.

Nightfall comes and the Capitol anthem plays. As it finishes, the faces of the dead begin to appear in the sky. After all the dead have been shown; I carefully sort out who is left to hunt. The boy from 3. The girl from 5. The girl from 8. The boy from 10. Both from 11. Katniss. As the sky begins to grow darker, we stop and set up a temporary camp to rest at. Marvel takes first watch. I lay down against the base of a tree, feeling the cold forest floor beneath me. I wonder how Clove is doing – especially with that injury. I shiver. I miss feeling her warmth next to me as I sleep; and though I've gone without it thousands of times before, the coldness now feels incredibly lonely and alien. Sleep doesn't come easily to me – I lack trust for my allies; and knowing that thousands of people are watching me drains my body of fatigue.

It feels like I've only been asleep for minutes when a voice awakes me from my slumber. "Wake up, sleepyhead." Someone coos. I awake instantly. "Clove?" I say sleepily. My eyes snap open. Glimmer is hunched next to me, her face offended; Peeta watches me with curiosity; and Marvel towers over me, snickering. I leap up, holding my sword, and start moving. "Come on, we don't have time to waste," I growl, while they watch in shock at my speedy reaction. It's still dark, hours from dawn. I give Peeta matches to light a torch while the rest of us pull out our flashlights. Hunting will be twenty times harder now – but it's not worth it to turn back if we haven't found any tributes yet. They have to be _somewhere_.

We walk for a few hours, our journey tedious and slow. Shining flashlights at trees isn't a very effective way to find tributes – and any that may've be in our range have probably ended up spotting our lights and running away. Just as the sky begins to lighten slightly, meaning the dawn is coming and it's near time to turn back; I spot it. A bright orange flame, shocking against the dark canvas of the forest. Behind this flame lies a tribute, their eyes closed; oblivious that their death is only minutes away. I start to run, and the others follow me, by now having spotted the blaze.

We reach her in seconds, surrounding the tribute. It's a girl. "What District?" I say, not recognizing her. She's not Katniss – and she's not the little girl from 11, either. "8." Peeta pipes up, to my surprise. Her eyes snap open, and her initial confusion turns to terror. She raises her hands, pleading – she has no weapons. She doesn't stand a chance against the four of us. "Please! Please! Don't kill me!" She screeches, too shocked to even attempt an escape. Without hesitation, I shove my sword into her chest. She screams and clutches the gaping wound beside her heart, tears streaming down her face. "Nice one, Cato. You did take a kill from me – but, dang, I'll let it go. That was hilarious. What a _wimp_." Marvel says, laughing. "Yeah – that was great, Cato! _Please_! _Please_! _Don't kill meeeee!_" Glimmer mocks, joining in on Marvel's laughter. "Twelve down and eleven to go!" She adds, giggling. I nod and smile, accepting the congratulations. This girl didn't stand a chance – she started a fire in the middle of a dark forest. If we hadn't gotten her, someone else would have. We check her for supplies or weapons. She has nothing but a set of matches and a slingshot. "Nothing," I say. I laugh and toss the slingshot away. What good is that against a sword – or any sort of weapon, actually? "She wasn't even clever enough to build a fire without matches," Glimmer chuckles, tucking the matches into her backpack. "Well – clearly she lacked any form of intelligence, considering she built a fire in the middle of the night," I say. My comment draws laughter from everyone.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," I say, knowing that sponsors expect me to live up to my role of an idiotic, cruel killer. Comments like this are key to prove my ruthlessness. "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" Marvel says, glancing back at the body uncertainly. "I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately," I say. "Unless she isn't dead," Marvel says, gazing at the bloody sword in my hands. "She's dead. I stuck her myself." I say. Who survives having a sword slammed into their chest? Maybe she hasn't quite bled out. "Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done." Glimmer says uneasily, picking up on the tension between Marvel and I. "Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice." Marvel agrees. "I said she's dead!" I growl. Why should we retreat a few yards, just to prove what I already know? Maybe her heart hasn't stopped yet, but there's no way she's surviving with the wound I inflicted. "Do you see this sword?" I say, waving it in Marvel's face. "It's soaked in blood! She's dead – she just needs time to bleed out," He flinches and steps back. "How do you know?" He snarls. "Watch, we'll never hear a cannon. We're going to find her in a few hours, alive and well; with her chest hardly bleeding." His voice is accusing. "I told – _she's dead_. We're moving on, and when the cannon fires in a minute, you'll be proven wrong." I say. "Watch-," He starts to say, when his voice is cut off. "We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!" Peeta says, his voice exasperated. I had almost forgotten he was a member of this alliance. I turn to him in surprise, and he meets my gaze unwaveringly. "Go on, then, Lover Boy," I say. "See for yourself," He nods and heads away from us, back to the girl. Now, he'll prove if he's an actual member of this alliance – if he does finish her, he can stay; if he tries to run… he's dead.

"Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" Glimmer murmurs, as soon as he's far enough. "Let him tag along. What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife," I say, mirroring her tone. "Besides, he's our best chance of finding her." If Katniss really does love Peeta… we may be able to lure her in. Even if she doesn't, Peeta is bound to know more about her than the rest of us. Even basic, district-partner knowledge is useful in this situation. "Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?" Glimmer whispers. Before I can respond, Marvel speaks. "She might have. Seemed pretty simpleminded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke." I nod my agreement. "Wish we knew how she got that eleven." He adds. "Bet you Lover Boy knows," I murmur. Peeta approaches us, and we halt our conversation. "Was she dead?" I say. "No, but she is now," He says. The cannon fires. "Ready to move on?" He says, his voice thick with authority. I examine him skeptically. Did he kill her – or is it a coincidence that her cannon fired so quickly after he headed back? His knife isn't out, and no blood stains his clothes. I decide not to ponder it – as long as there is one less competitor to worry about, it doesn't matter how they died.

"Let's run!" Glimmer says, giggling. "That pathetic little girl's death has energized me – plus, look, it's almost daylight!" The dawn is coming, meaning visibility in the forest is again possible – and with light comes increased productivity as far as hunting goes. We start to jog, trees flying by as we race along.

We comb through the forest for a few more hours, finding no trace of life. Frustrated that we've found no one – especially Katniss – I halt our search party. Without warning, I spin around and press my sword against Peeta's chest. "Tell us, now. What you know… about _her_," I say. I'm speaking about Katniss, of course. I have no use for Peeta – his knife skills are slack and pathetic compared to Clove's, and out of everyone in our alliance, he's the weakest. Katniss is the only reason we need him and it's no use to keep him around if we're not benefiting from it. "S-She, uh…," He splutters, staring at the blade in terror. "Her father is the butcher, in District 12; her uncle is a lumberjack." He starts to say. "A lumberjack? In District 12?" I say. District 12 is the coal district – and I vaguely recall learning that any forestry the District has is fenced off, so the starved population can't escape their crummy home. District 7 specializes in lumber. "Uh, well – he makes furniture for the whole District." He says. "Everyone in my District knows Katniss. She works for both her uncle and her father – she chopped down trees for her uncle and killed animals for her father," He finishes, his hands shaky and his voice nervous. "Continue," I say, examining his terrified expression. I don't know if I should trust him, take his words for fact. He doesn't gain anything by lying.. but if he really does love her, he's not telling the truth. "Her weapon of choice is an ax. She's been swinging one around for years – Johanna Mason is her idol, but she's far too arrogant to copy Johanna. She always bragged to everyone in town, about how she was training for the Games and was going to volunteer. Her sister being reaped was killing two birds with one stone," He says. "If she's so arrogant, why didn't I see her with an ax during training?" I growl. Peeta hesitates, a panicked look on his face. "Er… uh… oh! She didn't want you to ask her to join your alliance. She wants to win on her own; she wants the glory all to herself. She wants to say that no one helped her win – I mean, if she was in your alliance, everyone would think that she was leeching off of you. Her being from 12, you all being from 1, 2, and 4." He says. I pull my blade away from his chest. "If you're lying…," I make a swiping motion across my neck.

He nods in relief, his breathing uneven and loud. Killing him now is a possibility – but if he's knowledgeable enough to tell us what her skill is, there may be more we can pry from him. If I can gain his trust, who knows what he'll tell me about the girl with the 11?

We continue searching, as though nothing has happened. I reflect on my first full day here – Clove is alive. I am alive. This, enough, equals success to me. Only 11 must die until Clove can get out of here. That's what keeps me going.

**Clove POV**

**(So this doesn't confuse anyone – I'm continuing this POV from where Clove's last POV left off.)**

I wait for my dying wound – my curiosity about death far overpowering my fear. And, then, the weight on my chest is lifted off. For a second, I think that Ethan has adjusted his position – perhaps to get a better aim as he shoves the knife into my skin – but as I hear a panicked voice say my name, I am proven otherwise. _Cato_. "Cato..," I say, opening my eyes. "Cato." The one I love has saved me. He has saved me, though it's the last thing I deserve. If he hadn't.. I'd be dead, and Ethan victorious. He towers over me, his expression a mix of horror and relief. Without hesitating, he slashes the ropes and I'm free. Before I can stop myself, I throw myself into his arms and bury my face in his shoulder. "Cato…," I murmur. As I realize what I am doing, I pull away. What do I want to do? Keep him in my arms and never let go. Tell him 'I love you' a thousand times. What must I do? Pretend I don't care and that I'm nothing more than a grateful, pleasantly surprised ally. "Thank you for saving me," I say, trying to strip the emotion from my voice. "Your wound..," He says, and I can see the hurt reflected in his eyes. "It's not deep," I say. I'm lucky – the knife hardly broke the skin, and though the wound stings, it doesn't pose a serious threat to me. "I'm sure I can find some disinfectant and bandages in the Cornucopia." I say, guiltily leaving him before I can witness anymore of the unhappiness on his face. Right as I'm about to search for something to quell the bleeding from my injury with, cannons start to ring out. I count carefully. Eleven in all, meaning twelve more tributes must be killed before a victor is crowned.

I hear footsteps behind me, recognizing them as Cato's. "What happened?" He asks. Should I tell him? What happened to me was due to exceptionally poor judgment on my part, and having Panem be fully aware of my near-defeat is shameful enough. Having Cato – the one person whose opinion I actually value – know everything that went on between Ethan and I will be painfully embarrassing. I'm a trained Career, and my life was almost ended by a deluded, unskilled, child. But, since Cato saved me, he deserves the truth. Maybe, after he learns the full story, his opinion of me will be further decreased – making him care less for me, strengthening what I did this morning.

"I..," I start to say and my voice breaks. I clear my throat and try again; hoping I'm strong enough to tell him everything. "I made an awful decision," I say. "The effort of the Bloodbath and lack of sleep got to me. I tried my best to stay awake – but after a while of my yawning, Ethan told me to get some rest and reassured me that he'd be fine," I say. "I heeded his words – I trusted him, and I thought some rest would clear my head. He managed to tie me up while I was asleep – I guess years of net-weaving in 4 made his hands nimble and skilled. When I woke up, he had me pinned down. I tried to fight – but I couldn't break free of the rope and without my hands I'm useless." I say. "If he had just stabbed me in my sleep, one of those eleven cannons would be for me. But he wanted to have fun. He taunted me – he said he'd kill you and be the next Finnick Odair. Thank you, Cato. If you had come only a few minutes later…," I say. "I know how pathetic it is that he nearly managed to kill me, after my life of training. I owe everything to you." I finish, my cheeks burning; too ashamed to meet his eyes. "It's not your fault – you trusted your ally, and he happened to be a psychopath. You couldn't have foreseen that.. don't be hard on yourself, in any other situation you could've killed him," He says. I gape in shock – he should be smirking and laughing at my failure. But yet – after all I have done – he spares me compassion I don't deserve. As much as I want to uphold my act, my heart is not cold enough to ignore his unwavering love and loyalty. I throw my arms around him and he strokes my hair. My heart melts and desire pulses through my body. _His life, Clove. Are you really selfish enough to put what you want over his life? _I repeat the words in my head and pull away from him. I leave him, alone in the Cornucopia.

I join Thalia where she sits, on the base of the Cornucopia. Seeing my wound, she tosses me a bandage. I smile gratefully at her and wrap it around my neck. The bandage is thin – but the material seems like it is decent enough to soak up a good amount of blood. Cato emerges from the Cornucopia after a few minutes, clutching his sword. A few faint splatters of blood stain the silver blade – particularly near its edge. "Clove, Thalia, stay here and guard camp; the rest of us are going tribute hunting." He says. "But-," I start to say. I have done nothing for this alliance, as of yet – and I'd like to prove to Panem that I'm not a defenseless weakling. I want to prove to the world that I deserved my 10 – and how can I do so, stuck at camp? Cato cuts me off. "Your neck is still bleeding.. you should stay here, to recover from the shock," He says. My wound is nothing compared to what I've seen tributes cope with in previous Hunger Games', but I don't need to make myself appear childish by engaging in an argument I won't win. "You're right, I suppose.. have bountiful hunting," I say. "Thank you," He says, his voice devoid of feeling.

As I watch Cato's retreating figure, I make a promise to myself. I have to stop slipping up. I can't keep showing emotion towards him – if I want him to believe what I said this morning, if I want any care he holds for me to drain away, I have to act coldly and rudely. Obviously, with the way things are going now – he won't be able to move on after my death. I need him to leave this arena sadness-free and regret-free. Correction – I just need him to leave this arena, and with time, heal and live his life to the fullest.

I know the hours I must wait until Cato comes back won't pass quickly. To avoid thinking painful thoughts, I keep my mind occupied. I rummage through the Cornucopia, seeking better treatment for my wound. I find a small pot of clear lotion, and though I'm not completely sure what it is, I rub some over my neck. The slight burning sensation I have been feeling fades and I trace my finger uncertainly across my wound. The open, bleeding gash that was there only seconds ago is now a healed, smooth scab. I clutch the tiny container in shock – you would _never_ find such advanced medicine in the Districts. I head to the lake, wash the blood from my clothing and knives, and take the opportunity to fill multiple canteens with water. I head back to the Cornucopia, take a backpack, and shove everything useful I can find into it. In go the containers of water, the tiny canister of medicine, some small rations of food, a first aid kit, matches, a flashlight and bandages. As I carefully examine everything I come across, trying to pin a use on some of the odd items I find; I pick up a set of sunglasses. A half dozen are sealed into a clear plastic package. I'm struck with the urge to laugh – why would something so superficial be in the Cornucopia? Is this a sign that the arena will soon be struck with blistering heat? I tear open the package and inspect the glasses further. As I do, something in my brain clicks and I gasp. These are night vision glasses – I can't quite remember where I learned about them, whether it be by watching a previous Games or by being taught, but I'm glad that I have recognized them. They're glasses that enable your vision in darkness to mirror your vision in the daylight. They'll make doing anything in the arena at night effortless. I tuck three pairs into my backpack – one for myself, one for Cato, one extra. After stuffing a few other cans of (what I believe to be) medicine into my backpack, I decide I am done. I feel refreshed, confident – I have knives, and decent, life-saving supplies. I am at a very high advantage, compared to tributes who escaped from the Bloodbath with nothing.

I take time to familiar myself with the arena. There's the lake, the forest – and down a long downward slope, there lies a field. Splashes of different colored long grass – or crops, maybe – stretch over most of it. The grass must be taller than I am, and just peering at it gives me the chills. I don't want to know what creatures the grass hides.

Heading back to the Cornucopia, I sit down beside Thalia. She's faced towards the forest, watching it. "Did you see any tributes head into the long grass?" I say. She pauses. "Yes, the male from District 11. Hard not to notice him – he's the biggest out of all the tributes, apart from Cato, maybe," She says. We sit in silence, staring at the forest until night begins to fall. With night, come the faces of the dead. The anthem plays and then drains away. The faces of the dead begin to appear - the girl from District 3, the one I saw Marvel kill. The first one dead. Ethan – as I stare at his photo, his innocently smiling face; I expect to feel pity. But.. it doesn't come. It's hard to mourn the person that nearly murdered you and threatened to also murder the one person you love. Alas.. he probably wouldn't have turned into such a monster had he not been reaped.

The District 5 boy appears.. Cato's kill. Both from District 6. Both from District 7. As their faces appear, I'm struck dumb with horror. _I_ killed them… _I_ am the reason that they no longer exist. I tell myself not to break and remind myself that, wherever they are, they are at peace. _Forgive me. _I think, hoping that, somehow, they can hear me. The boy from District 8 shows up; and both from 9. The 9 boy's death is easier to cope with – I didn't face him, he didn't realize that he was going to die. I threw a knife at his unsuspecting self, striking his back. The girl from 10 is the last to appear and the images remain for a few seconds before fading away. I bow my head, knowing that my image could've just as easily been in the sky tonight, if not for Cato…

"It's unfortunate that your District partner died so early in the Games," I say to Thalia. She stares at me in surprise. My words are the Capitol-proof version of 'I'm sorry'. After all, Careers are not supposed to show grief or sorrow at the death of others…

She seems to decode my words. "It is unfortunate, yes." She murmurs. "I didn't care for him, but he was very young… and so weak. I'm surprised that no one volunteered for him.. actually, scratch that, I'm disappointed. I'd love to have a handsome, strong hero like Cato." She says, smiling slightly. "I-It's not… we don't care for each other in that way anymore," I say. She raises her eyebrows. "You two struck me as genuine – I don't believe in fairy tale love, but you two exuded care for each other. It was sweet..," She says, and winks. I wonder if she's being sarcastic – but from her tone of voice and facial expression, I trust that I can take her words for the truth. "Fairytales have happy endings," I growl. She looks taken aback. "I'm sorry," I say quickly. She shrugs. "I love him," I say – I don't care if all of Panem is listening to me. "Love is a very strong word," She says, avoiding my gaze while she polishes the knife gripped in her hand. "I know, it seems ridiculous from the outside. I know he's… _right_. It's hard to explain, but.. I adore him with every fiber of my being and I'd give up my life for him. He's _everything_ to me." I say. "I'd doubt it.. but.. having seen you two together..," She stops her sentence and tilts her head. "If you love him, why the iciness between you?" She says. "I broke it off with him before the Games. I don't want his care for me to influence his decisions in the arena," I plan my words carefully. I may trust Thalia enough to speak to her – but I cannot forget that she is another tribute, another person competing against Cato and me to win the Hunger Games. To say, "I'm getting Cato out of this arena," would be a poor decision. "You're a strong person," She says, her voice admiring. "But he doesn't seem to have gotten the message… you should've seen the way he reacted when he heard you yell… he tore through the forest, nothing stopping him," I press my knees to my chest. "I know – I wish it wasn't like this, and it's certainly painful.. but it's for the best," I say.

The sky darkens and I feel myself become sleepy. "I'll take the first watch," Thalia says. Noticing my reluctant expression, she laughs. "Don't worry – I'm not brave enough to attack you in your sleep and subject myself to the brunt of Cato's wrath. I'm not sleepy – I'll wake you up in a few hours." She says. Oddly enough, I trust her. Our conversation about Cato has forged something between us – not friendship, necessarily; but a small amount of trust.

I grab a sleeping bag and settle myself inside it. As I close my eyes, exhaustion overcomes me.

_Sweet dreams, Cato, wherever in the arena you may be.._


	10. Chapter 10

**Clove POV**

I awake to the boom of a cannon, and before I can even make the sense of the situation around me, I leap from my sleeping bag, wielding a knife. "I'm fine – the cannon didn't have anything to do with us," Thalia says as she emerges from the Cornucopia. "Nice reflexes," She adds, staring at the knife gripped cautiously in my hand. I'm not ashamed of my somewhat extreme reaction – had there been an attacker here, I would've been ready to fight. "I wonder who that cannon was for," I say, peering into the dark forest curiously. "You're not worried about Cato, are you?" She asks. "Actually, no," I say, a faint red flushing my cheeks. Cato's the strongest tribute in the arena, without a doubt. Glimmer or Marvel wouldn't have the guts to betray him – and Cato's far too intelligent to fall into a situation that would give either the opportunity. There are no tributes that would ambush or attempt to fight three armed Careers, either. "They did go tribute-hunting, after all; I suppose it's about time they claimed a victim," I say. The sky is smoky gray, masking the approaching dawn. "Thalia..," I say. "You let me sleep all night…," She waves her hand in dismissal. "You deserved a good night's rest, for reasons I'm sure I don't need to list….," She says. "Thank you," I say, grateful. "I'll take watch now; I'll wake you up before the rest of them come back," I say. She thanks me and sets up a sleeping bag on the grass.

I circle around the Cornucopia, trying to stretch my legs. As the sky begins to lighten, I feel myself become energized. I pull a few knives from my jacket, my hands itching to throw them. I choose the trees at the edge of the forest as targets. I launch my knives forward, one at a time; and to my delight, they all reach their mark. I retrieve them - hoping the cameras have picked up on my success – and settle down. I watch the forest carefully, wondering what it hides. I wish I could explore the arena – being stuck here, where there's no action, is miserable.

As I stare into the dark, motionless forest, I'm given time to think. If I wasn't here, if I was back in District 2 right now, I'd be watching the Games. Writing notes on the tributes that seemed most likely to win – their combat technique, their weapon technique, their survival technique. I'd be comparing the District 2 female to myself, and trying to ignore my obvious attraction to Cato. I wish I hadn't been reaped. I wish I could be at home right now, milking the two years left until the 76th Hunger Games. If I hadn't been reaped.. Cato and I wouldn't have happened. He could win, go home; and maybe after I volunteered for and won the 76th Hunger Games we could… date. But, instead, we're stuck in this awful mess. Apart from Cato and me, there are 10 tributes left. 11 – including myself – left to die bloody, painful deaths on the arena floor. I shiver and run my fingers across my neck. The skin is smooth, undamaged. I glance at my reflection in one of my knives; nothing but a faint, red line remains from the wound Ethan inflicted upon me. I owe so much to Cato…

I spend the rest of the morning pacing around camp, testing my knives; ignoring the uncertainties that plague my mind. The forest is nearly motionless – devoid of the typical sounds of nature. At one point, I catch a flash of movement high up in a tree, and it takes me a moment to realize that it's the young girl from 11. As I watch, my gaze undetected by her, she leaps from tree to tree, flowing across effortlessly. With admiration, I determine that her training score wasn't undeserved. She soon disappears from my range of sight, and I'm left to go back to observing my knives. The knives I'm used to, from home, are nothing like the ones I've collected here. Weapons in District 2 aren't made for decoration. The knives I regularly practiced with were simple – a sturdy handle, and a sleek, piercing blade. Rarely, I'd come across a knife with a simple design carved into it. The knives here are gaudy and grandiose. The handles are smothered in multi-colored gems, and various patterns are engraved on the blades. They're beautiful, but in an artificial, excessive way. The Capitol is content to let Panem starve while they throw away an exorbitant amount of money on these Games.

It's almost noon when Marvel emerges from the forest, an unfamiliar figure in tow. I shake Thalia awake and head towards them. It takes a moment for me to realize who the person with Marvel is. Peeta. The District 12 boy. Cato and Glimmer are nowhere in sight. Did Marvel betray our alliance, with his little ally here? Does that mean that the cannon might've been for Cato…? I raise a knife warningly to their approaching figures. "Where's Cato?" I say, "Glimmer?" I add. Marvel rolls his eyes. "You survived the night?!," He snickers. "It's absolutely adorable that you consider yourself so invincible,"  
I say. "But, before you open your mouth, perhaps you should recall whom got an 8 in training and whom got a 10," I growl. "Now, answer my question." He glares at me. "Back there," He says, nodding towards the forest. I catch a flash of blond hair in the trees and his words are confirmed. "Why is he with you?" I say, staring at Peeta. "He's our.. ally," Marvel says. Cato wouldn't have let Peeta into the alliance without reason. I suppose I'll figure out what that reason is later. "Why are they still back there?" I say to Marvel, watching the forest. Without warning, he rips my knife from my hands and throws it into the forest. "What are you doing?" I yell. I pull another knife from my coat and press it against his chest. He smirks. "Why don't you go see what they're doing? I mean, while you're getting your knife, you can go check up on them," He says. He walks away from me, towards the Cornucopia; Peeta following.

I walk towards the forest, my legs stiff. I reach it and walk forward reluctantly. I step carefully, willing myself to stay silent. I catch sight of Glimmer and Cato a few yards into the woods - they're unusually close and seem to be chatting, though I can't make out their words. I edge forward, the brush masking me well. I slip behind a tree, only a few feet from them; grateful that I seem to have gone unnoticed. It's nosy of me to eavesdrop.. but the urge is overwhelming and the temptation far too much to fight. I try to justify my actions – they are in my alliance, after all; anything they're talking about… or doing.. can't stay hidden for long. "You're so strong, Cato. I've always liked District 2 men," Glimmer purrs, her hand pressed against his chest. "Look…," Cato starts to say. Before he can get the words out of his mouth, Glimmer presses her body against his and kisses him. I blink again and again, convinced that I'm hallucinating. Now I know why Marvel was so eager for me to find them.. I stay behind the tree, fists clenched. I hope Glimmer's 'beloved' is watching. I hope he's wishing her dead just as much as I am. Cato pulls away from her embrace after a second, much to my relief – I might've just shoved a knife in her back, otherwise. My cheeks burn in shame as I realize the absurdity of my thoughts. Cato has every right to kiss her. I need to move on. However.. if he _does_ have something with her.. as awful as it may be, I'm getting rid of her. Another obstacle before I can get Cato out of here is the last thing I need. And.. it hurts. It hurts, knowing that Cato …. wants her.

"What are you doing?" Cato says, before backing away from her. "You never know what's going to happen – we're in the Hunger Games. I want to _live_ as much as I can.. before…," She says. "Plus, you're gorgeous, Cato. I want to be with you." I nearly gag. "More like, '_I'll pretend to love you, if you protect me_.'" I murmur under my breath. Cato's too smart to fall for her… I hope. "I don't care for you – especially not in _that_ way," He says. "Try Marvel, though – he seems very willing." I let out a sigh of relief, and clasp my hands over my mouth. Neither of them show any indication of having heard me. So, Glimmer's not a worry. I don't have to watch as they grow closer; my heart doesn't have to shatter every time I'm near him, or every time I see them together. Cato being with an intelligent, skillful girl would've hurt enough – but him choosing to be with someone so cruel and shallow, like Glimmer? That'd pour salt on my wounds.

"You were being so friendly..," She says, pouting. His face hardens. "That doesn't mean I want to be with you," He says coldly. "It's because of that stupid girl from your District, isn't it?! Why would you want her.. when you could have me?" She says, her voice rising. "There's no competition. It'll always be her," He growls. My heart nearly melts. How can he still be this loyal? Even after everything I said…? If only we weren't _here_.. if only both us could get out..

"I'm going back to camp," Glimmer says, sulking. "I'll come in a few minutes," Cato says. Glimmer doesn't protest. She walks away, thankfully choosing to walk in a straight line, thus avoiding where I am. Cato stays where he is and buries his face in his hands. My heart aches as I watch him. If only I could comfort him. I'll never forgive myself for causing him pain, even if it was for the best. He walks a few paces forward, and expecting him to head back towards camp, I allow myself to breathe easily again. He leans forward and picks something up from the forest floor. My heart sinks as I realize that he has retrieved my knife. There's no telling if he'll recognize it as mine. He examines the knife for a few moments as I cower, hoping that he will retreat to camp. Having to explain to him why I'm here, him discovering that I watched him and Glimmer kiss..

I hear a shuffle of movement, seemingly heading away from me, and poke my head out from behind my tree. "Clove, I know you're here.. you didn't earn that 10 due to your stealth, that's for sure." I jump at his words and wince as I realize what a foolish mistake I've made. I've blown my cover. I curse. "I can't do anything properly in this damned arena." My words aren't fuelled by anger, they're fuelled by frustration. I've done nothing but made a fool of myself, and I have only myself to blame.

"Well, considering Ethan.. I doubt he did all that to you while you lay here, unbothered and peacefully asleep. He might've knocked you out." Cato says. I rub my head slightly, and it's sore.. perhaps a confirmation. "I owe you my life." I say earnestly. Ethan's dead now, and I don't want to waste my breath discussing him.

He waves his hand dismissively. "So.. you saw." He watches for my change in expression, and I bite my tongue as will to keep my face passive. This is the very subject I was hoping to avoid, and there's nothing I can do but tell the truth. "Yes," I say reluctantly, though his words were not a question. "I'm sorry." I say, and I come out hesitantly from behind my tree. "It's your business. I came to get my knife, and..," I pause awkwardly, not sure how to go on without admitting that I've been shamelessly eavesdropping. "Well.. I'll see you back at camp." I say, avoiding his piercing gaze. "No. We need to talk," He says. He tips my chin upwards with his hand and I shiver, craving his touch. "Clove, I love you." I back away from him, my blood chilling. "Cato, I..," I say, at a loss for words. "Do you think I say that lightly?" He says, a hint of anger in his tone. I want to melt into his arms, I want to erase the pain I've caused him. But what I want cannot come first in this arena.

"Love is a strong word," I say, willing my voice to be cool. "We're not even adults yet," I say lamely, a petty defense to cover my ridiculous ruse. "We should both go back to camp," I say gently, trying to ease his silence and stiffness. I turn around, feeling the dagger of his icy gaze pierce my back. I walk slowly, hoping to hear the cracks of twigs that will signal he's following. Rather than hearing the soft crunch of wood being destroyed, I hear a soft gasp of pain. I spin around instinctively, shove my hand into my jacket and grip a knife. "Cato..?" I say. His right hand is wrapped around his left wrist. A steady maroon stream leaks out from beneath from his hand. My knife is gripped in his other hand – crimson stains the jagged edge. "Cato!" I cry. I leap forward and lift his hand from his wrist. There's a thin, shallow cut across his wrist and the bleeding has nearly subsided. My heart stops its frantic pounding and my meager breaths become normal and relaxed. The wound isn't anything to be concerned about. "Cato, are you insane?" I say angrily. I rummage through my bag, in search of bandages and disinfectants. "You care." He says quietly. "About me." I stop what I'm doing and look at him, my eyes guilty. "Of course.. you're my district partner." I say weakly. I suppose it's about time I admit to myself that I'm in denial. I thought I'd be able to make Cato forget about me. I thought I'd be able to let go of him. But.. what we have.. what I feel for him.. it seems to be nearly impossible to sever. Especially since we're stuck in this damned death match, and I have to rely on my shoddy acting skills to convince him that I despise him, when in reality I love him and would give my life to save this.

"I'm not insane," He says. "But.. you do seem to care a lot about me." My hands shake as I apply his bandages. I know that no matter what complex lie I conjure, he'll be able to see through it. He rubs the blood off of my knife, opens my jacket and slips my knife into a slot. Even the slightest of touches from him electrifies my skin and frenzies my heart. He notices my nervousness and smiles, arching his eyebrows. I finish wrapping his wound, my hands still trembling slightly. "Don't take off the bandages or it'll get infected. I hope to never know, but I'm betting infection's a pretty painful death. Make sure they're not too tight-" I say. He rolls his eyes and smirks. "I'm from District 2 also, remember?" I ignore him and pour some water from a canteen onto his blood-stained hand and rub it off with my sleeve. "If you ever want me dead, do that again, and I'll succumb from a mix of shock and a probable heart attack," I say. Before I can say more, Cato pulls me into his arms and kisses me once on the top of the head. "I love you." He whispers. I launch myself backwards, ripping his arms from me. "You don't love me!" I shriek. "Truly think about it – I am not worth your life. There are thousands of girls more beautiful, more lively, more graceful than I am. Please. That's what will make me happy, and, in the future, it'll make you happy, too."

To the viewers, my words must sound angry. A typical outburst, coming from an overly dramatic teenager fed up with her pesky boyfriend and soured romance. My words, however, actually come of fear and frustration. I cannot imagine a world without Cato. Having to live without his smile, his heart.. it'd be agony. He has so much to offer to this deprived world, and he deserves to meet his potential. He must see sense, and I am not capable of enlightening him.

I run from him, my heart pounding, unable to bear a glance back at him. I arrive at camp far too soon, my legs aching with exertion. I wish I could keep running, out of this arena, out of Panem.. It'd be such relief, to leave the past and the present behind, to just fade away and have never existed.

I plop myself down next to Thalia. Glimmer, Marvel and Peeta sit together. Glimmer and Marvel are whispering to each other, and occasionally shoot us dark looks. Thalia tries to engage me in conversation, but I am brief, preoccupied with watching the forest for a sign of Cato. My concentration is broken by a shuffle of movement. I raise my eyes. Glimmer has moved to stand above me, a sneer on her face. I shoot up, guessing her intentions aren't kind. "Can I help you?" I say coldly. Thalia stands behind me, tense. Marvel has a smirk on his face and hasn't moved. Peeta watches us, curiously, eager to see a real life display of Career brutality. "You're despicable." Glimmer snarls, a wild look in her eyes. "Why does he care about you? You are a pathetic excuse for a Career, and so ugly." She's trying to anger me, but what she says means nothing to me. "We're in the Hunger Games, Glimmer. Do you really want to waste your precious, fleeting time this way?" I say dismissively. Though what I said is the simple truth, she shoots me an infuriated glare. I have done something unheard of by Career standards – chosen logic over impulse.

"I can make you even uglier." Glimmer says suddenly, fiercely. She curls her hands into fists, and raises them toward me. She throws a punch at my nose, but I'm ready. As her fist is about to connect with my face, I grasp her wrist and twist it back. There's a sharp crack and she moans. My retaliation has unleashed her fury. She screams and lunges at me. Marvel cheers, chanting her name. I dodge her advance. As I do so, Thalia steps beside me. "No! I can handle her." I hiss. She senses my urgency, and reluctantly backs away. Glimmer takes advantage of my distraction and punches me in the stomach. It takes the breath from me, and I cough furiously. She smiles victoriously, planning to finish me off. Something changes within me. I no longer want to be seen as vulnerable. My fellow Careers should not see me as an easy target, and from now on, I will not allow them to. I allow my hidden anger, sadness, and anxiety to fuel me and drive me forward, and plaster a smirk on my face to match Glimmer's. She tries to hide her dismay at my recovery, and looks me up and down, trying to stake out a weak point. Without hesitating, I slam my elbow into her nose. She stumbles back, blood pouring from her nostrils. The fire leaves her eyes. She started this fight expecting an easy win, and now that she hasn't gotten one, she's done. But I'm not.

I push her with a simple flick of my hand, and she falls to the ground, fear in her eyes. She's injured, and has no will to fight. I launch my foot into her stomach. She wheezes and clutches her chest. "Please. I-I'm sorry, Clove." Her eyes plead with me, begging for mercy. I snort and turn my back to her. "Value your life," I say icily. "You'll only have it for so much longer." As I walk forward, I nearly collide with Cato. It's impossible to tell how much he witnessed by the apathetic gaze in his eyes. I open my mouth to say something, _anything_, but all words fail me. I stare at him, but he doesn't make eye contact with me. Instead, he walks over to Glimmer. "Our alliance isn't over yet, wait until we eliminate the rest of the competition, then we can fight among ourselves." He says, no hint of emotion in his voice. He assesses Glimmer's wounds, asks her where it hurts, and gathers medical supplies to treat her. Funny. I know how I felt when I treated his wound earlier. Care, concern, worry, fear, because I love him. It's hard to know he feels he has an obligation to act the same way towards Glimmer. I am frozen. As I watch them, I feel the pain of a thousand knives pierce my heart. I look down, expecting a bloody weapon to be lodged in my chest, but there is nothing. "Clove," Thalia says kindly, concern in her voice. I'm snapped from my trance, and I sit down, numb. "How much… did he see?" I say quietly. Thalia looks at me with pity and reluctance. "Just tell me," I whisper. "He came right after I tried to join the fight. He looked like he wanted to intervene, but you made it pretty clear that you can fend for yourself." She says. Noticing my torn expression, she says cheerily, "Good job, someone needed to put her into her place. You fought so well," Glancing towards Cato and Glimmer, she adds, "I…. look…. He's not worth it." Her words are said lamely, uncertainly, but I appreciate her attempt at comforting me. She's at a loss for words, and so am I. Cato and I are finally broken, finally… over. My speech earlier was successful. This is what I wanted. I should be overjoyed, but instead, I feel dead. I guess I secretly, selfishly hoped he'd always stay with me. Despite the pain, this feels final. I have nothing to live for. I no longer have to be guarded and cautious when it comes to my own safety. I can fight recklessly, brutally. I will fight to my last breath, as long as it assures that Cato will get out of here. Finally, I am free. I have nothing to lose.

The sun sets, and I watch the fiery, blended colors in awe; convinced that such beauty could not possibly be artificial. Thalia and I settle in our sleeping bags. I force myself to eat tiny morsels of food, my stomach far too knotted to gladly accept the offerings. I glance over at Cato and Glimmer as I eat. They're sitting close together, talking and laughing. Glimmer brushes her hand across his chest every few minutes, and when it happens, I wince and turn away in disgust. Occasionally, Glimmer shoots me a smug smirk, aware of my pain. She's just as stunned as I am, certainly. She must've thought she would lose her spot in the alliance, or maybe her life, because of how Cato feels.. felt.. about me. But instead, she's getting coddled by him, and they're suddenly… friends.

The fight has had some positive effects. I've earned a place among my alliance. I'm no longer pitiable, I'm respected. Viewers now know I'm not quite so.. fragile. My confidence is regained. I am not breakable. I have trained my entire life for this wretched event, I am a formidable match and will put every piece of my being into whatever fights I may be thrown into. I tear my gaze from Glimmer and Cato as they place their sleeping bags next to each other, my heart hollow.

I turn to Thalia, her kindness an easy distraction. We chat about the simplest of things, fighting the mental strain this arena brings about. I love to hear about District 4. She describes to me the feeling of plunging into the cold surf on an unbearably hot day, the pleasure of the beating sun against your cold, wet skin. Words fail me when I attempt to share pleasant memories I experienced in District 2. She describes everything so vividly, with such color and enthusiasm. The beautiful gleam her eyes reflect as she recounts stories of her lovely home show a true happiness; a happiness I know I could only show when speaking of Cato.

As the sky darkens and the noise of the rest of the alliance dies down, we lay down. Cato moves to take watch, and I want to speak to him, but I cannot find the courage to. He stares at the sky, an unreadable expression on his face. As I watch his unmoving form, I recount all our memories, my heart ripping and shredding itself apart. I wonder if he'll ever think of me as his life moves on. His first love… A single tear slips down my cheek and I shut my eyes, fighting my mind for sleep.

**If anyone is still following this story, I am so sorry about the lack of updates! I got too caught up in life, and neglected this story. I WILL update weekly from now on. That is a concrete promise.**

**Thank you, readers and reviewers.**


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